When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “Oh gods,” Kristafrost repeated, whispering.

  The trumpet sounded again. A few blocks over, they saw a point of light form in the sky, and then a pure, brilliant beam of purplish white energy shot down on top of another residential tower. From bottom to top, its glass exploded outwards, stripping it down to its copper frame. The screams of people dying—those on the ground shredded by glass—could be heard rising through the streets. Those who had been inside must have died instantly.

  Two more towers were shattered, and then the fire from heaven stopped. A strange quiet filled the air.

  Aradma placed her hand on the inn wall, leaning to support herself. The building had not collapsed upon them, and the ceiling was mostly intact save for the pieces that had fallen. Aradma still felt disconnected after the initial shockwave. “We need to…” she murmured. “… we need to… see who’s alive. Check the building.”

  Tiberan nodded. He seemed more focused, less dazed by the attack. Soon he reported back that most of the inn’s inhabitants were unharmed.

  “Valkrage,” Aradma said. “Maybe he can tell us what happened.”

  “Maybe it’s him,” Tiberan said grimly.

  “Then all the more reason.”

  “Aradma’s right,” Kristafrost agreed. “We should get to God Spire.”

  Yinkle brought Aradma a pair of leather boots. The elven woman had grown accustomed to walking barefoot, but with the glass over the streets, that would not be possible.

  The four of them made their way to God Spire, taking note of the damage as they went. There were many bloodied bodies on the ground. All those who had been in or near one of the towers when the beam of light hit had died. From Aradma’s guess, based on the number of trumpet calls she had heard, five towers had been hit. Why had it stopped?

  The front gates of God Spire were wide open, and a crowd of seelie had gathered beneath them. No one wanted to go inside. A throng of the faithful converged around the seelie. Where they had been kind and welcoming but a day before, now their faces churned with rage and ugly fear.

  Aradma pushed through the outer crowd, joining the seelie. A light elf man approached her—Tarrin, she seemed to remember he called himself.

  “Lady Aradma,” he said. “They think we are behind this.”

  “Get inside. Close the gates.”

  “But that will only confirm their fears,” he protested. “We had no part in this. Our people lie dead, too.”

  Rajamin and Suleima sprinted down the street towards them, with Jorey and his family—both his children and the adopted wolven—hurrying behind them. The mob parted to let them in, but she had the distinct impression that getting out wouldn’t be so easy.

  “What happened?” Aradma asked.

  “It’s Pavlin!” Rajamin panted. “He’s turned against us! He’s claiming this was all an elven plot to kill humans. And they’re listening to him!”

  “Because they already think it,” Aradma replied. “They’ve suffered much at the hands of the sidhe.”

  “One sidhe in particular,” Rajamin nodded. “The Templars have turned their swords on the seelie. Those that survived are being cut down. We beat him to the inn, but you weren’t there, so we guessed you might be here. He’s surely not far behind us.”

  One from the crowd threw a rock. Then more rocks and shards of glass flew through the air.

  Aradma turned back to Tarrin. “Get everyone inside!” she shouted.

  He nodded and ran to spread the word.

  The mob was hesitant to press into God Spire behind them. The seelie pushed the gates closed. Before the doors shut, Aradma could see the Templars closing in behind the mob, led by Pavlin. Behind him, she saw a seelie woman dragged out of an alley and her throat sliced open.

  “I’ll kill him,” Aradma growled. “We should never have trusted him. He’s ruined everything!” She pushed forward towards the door.

  “No!” Suleima intervened. “No, it is too late. You must protect your people. You must protect your child!” Suleima placed her hand on Aradma’s belly.

  “How many are here?”

  “About fifty,” Tarrin said. “We thought the Archmage might give us shelter. More will come, but…”

  Aradma shook her head. “We have to get out while we can. Is the ship still at the top of the tower?”

  “I didn’t see it when we entered,” Yinkle answered. “I imagine, after the first tower was hit, the crew withdrew her to a safe distance.”

  The mob outside pounded on the gate. It rattled back and forth but held against their strength.

  “It will be nearby,” Rajamin said. “I’ll have to signal it when we get to the top.”

  “And the Archmage?” Kristafrost asked.

  Aradma and Tiberan looked at each other.

  Aradma finally conceded the worst. “He needs to be dealt with. Pavlin doesn’t matter right now.”

  Tiberan nodded in understanding.

  The gate pounded again. Seelie men and women pushed against it, holding it closed against the mob. Some of the women, those with Dragon’s powers reminiscent of Aradma’s, summoned and began weaving in growth of thorny vines to create a thicketed barrier.

  “Stand back,” Aradma commanded.

  They looked doubtful at first but did as they were told. She stretched out her arms, and before the door gave way to the onslaught, a thick wall of solid wood sprouted from the ground and implanted itself in the ceiling.

  “That will hold for some time,” she said. Then: “Everyone, follow me to the top. We’re leaving Artalon.”

  BOOM!THwaaaaat!

  In the distance, they could hear another tower shatter in response to the trumpet’s call.

  “We have to kill Valkrage,” Aradma stated flatly. “His mind is gone, and the damage he’ll unleash will only grow.”

  All of them left the entryway behind, finding the main spiral stair leading up into the half-mile tall tower.

  The inside walls of the tower were smooth stone and glass of pale blue hues. Gold geometric ribbing lined the walls in a lattice-like structure, forming curved arches that touched the ceiling in points. The steps were wide and easy as they spiraled around the open middle lift’s shaft, unusable now that the runes were dark.

  The band of people climbed the stairwell that never seemed to end. Passages opened into grand halls of glass leading to inner apartments and chambers, all well lit by windows open to the sky. Air flowed through in a cool breeze, circulated by the wondrous geometric architecture of gnomish design. They passed platforms and balconies as they held their focus on their ascent.

  It took several hours for them to reach the top. By that time, Aradma was exhausted. She knew the others were tired as well, but they didn’t have a life growing inside them. A life that seemed heavier with

  every

  damned

  step.

  She leaned against the wall. The stairwell ended at a hall. To the left were the throne room and other Imperial apartments. To the right, the great balcony.

  “To the balcony,” she panted. “Rajamin, summon the airship, and get everyone ready to go.”

  “I… understand…” the ratling priest wheezed.

  Everyone wanted to stop and rest, but Tiberan read Aradma’s expression and urged them on. They hurried to the balcony. Valkrage’s staff still sat planted in the platform floor, standing upright. Its violet crystal continued to glow and flash, sending out its periodic thrumbeat past the city walls into the world, calling all seelie to Artalon.

  Yinkle took a small orange stick from one of her belt pouches and lit its fuse with spark from a flint. It shot an orange flare into the sky, and then two more. It seemed as if time stood still, but it was only ten minutes or so before the ship returned to the platform. The crew quickly and efficiently laid the boarding bridge down. The seelie survivors hurried aboard, along with Jorey and his family. Yinkle followed them, and then Rajamin. The old priest stopped and turned back.

  “Aren’t you c
oming?” he asked Aradma.

  “No, we need to find Valkrage. Wait for us?”

  He nodded. “We’ll not leave you here.”

  Aradma turned to Eszhira. “This is not your fight. Get on the ship.”

  Eszhira shook her head. “I’m not leaving.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Aradma promised.

  “No, I mean I’m not leaving Artalon.”

  “Oh!”

  “I have unfinished business.”

  “I’m not going either,” Kristafrost said. “As bad as it is, I won’t abandon this city. After all, my people built it.”

  Aradma looked at both her friends in silence for a brief moment. “If that is your choice,” she conceded.

  Suleima stepped back off the airship. “I’m coming with you to the Archmage,” she said. “I said I would follow you and I will. The least I can do is offer you the strength of my runes.”

  Aradma hugged her. “Thank you.”

  Before Yinkle and Rajamin could join them as well, Aradma stopped them. “No, Yinkle. Stay here and keep the ship ready and the others calm. And Rajamin, I need you to undo this,” she pointed to Valkrage’s staff, still planted in the balcony floor. “It is not safe here, and this beacon will keep calling seelie to this city. I pray your faith is stronger than the wizard’s magic.”

  The two ratlings’ whiskers twitched in defiance and dread, but they agreed.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Rajamin said, “but undoing arcane magic isn’t something I have much experience with. However, divinity is stronger than any wizard’s magic, even if this one did happen to be an Archdragon once.”

  The five of them—Aradma and Tiberan with Ghost at his side, Kristafrost and Eszhira, and Suleima—cautiously approached the throne room.

  Valkrage crouched upon the throne of golden stag antlers, knees drawn up to his chest and bare feet curled over the edge of the seat. His hands were folded over the back of his head, and he appeared to be contemplating the floor.

  Aradma gestured for the others to stay back. She approached the sidhe alone.

  “Valkrage,” she said. “Valkrage, do you know who I am? Can you stop the fire from the heavens?”

  The Archmage looked up suddenly with haunted eyes. “You!” he exclaimed, and flung a hand out.

  An invisible force lifted Aradma into the air and threw her back, knocking the breath from her when she hit the floor.

  Valkrage jumped up. “Oh! Oh!” He ran towards her.

  Tiberan and the others rushed to her defense, but Valkrage sent them all flying back with a gesture of his hand. The sidhe knelt down beside Aradma. “I’m so sorry!” he cried out in dismay. “I thought you were someone else.”

  He placed his hand gently on Aradma’s forehead and looked into her eyes. “Yes,” he said. “You are my sister.” Up close, she saw his own eyes were dark brown once more, like stained oak, but with flecks of bright purple floating and swimming over his dark irises, pupils, and the whites of his eyes. It was as if he still had fragments of the Violet Dragon’s essence, but they were all disconnected from each other. He had dissociated knowledge but no context for his mortal mind to use to make sense of it all.

  He helped her to her feet. Another brief moment of lucidity remained, and then he cackled and stormed five steps away from her before whirling to face her again.

  “Did you know, sister, that this is not Artalon’s true throne?”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “The real Stag Throne is hidden. I never unlocked the mystery of its location! Me! We were supposed to use it!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She glanced at her companions and saw them all pressed up against the walls of the chamber, still held by an invisible force. “Valkrage,” she implored. “Please release my friends.”

  “What? Oh, that.” He waved his hands, and her companions dropped to the floor unharmed.

  Aradma fretted. Even mad, Valkrage was strong. Even with Eldrikura’s body dead, and most of her dreamwalker within Valkrage disintegrated, Aradma sensed that the Archmage still wielded more of his Dragon’s power than she did of Graelyn’s. Unlike Aradma, he had been an avatar.

  He shot a glance at her. “Why did you not stay with us, Graelyn! We could have avoided all of this!”

  Again, she shook her head.

  “You were supposed to be like me. We had all agreed to come back here! You had your avatar. Why did you withdraw from Sidhna? Were you frightened by mortality?”

  “I am sorry,” Aradma said. “I do not have that memory within me.” But, looking at the elf, she could imagine that if Graelyn had foreseen this end, this descent into madness, she might have turned away from the mortal path.

  “No matter,” he said. “The problem was always the gods.”

  She felt as if he had struck her in the face. Something in his madness rang true, but there were Dragon memories still hidden from her.

  “They were the reason the Black Dragon fell!” he cried out. “Do you not remember? Klrain was not always evil! He…”

  Somewhere in the recesses of her Dragon self, she had an instant of memory. Klrain and Eldrikura had been mates before he fell to the Dark.

  “And now you have brought the gods back to Artalon,” he sneered. “The cycle will continue. But I have a solution.”

  Aradma took a step back from him. She shot a sideways glance at Tiberan and the others, giving a barely perceptible nod. Be ready, she thought. She hoped they understood.

  “I will purge this city! Karanos is dead once more, and I won’t let these people bring the others back to life!”

  He turned and ran behind the throne to the small private balcony so fast that he was but a blur. He lifted his hands to the heavens—

  BOOM!THwaaaaat!

  —and another light formed in the sky.

  “Now!” Aradma said. She thrust her hands forward, and a cable of intertwined vines shot towards him. At the same time, Ghost leaped and Tiberan released an arrow. Eszhira and Kristafrost suddenly appeared behind him, striking at him.

  And then he was not there.

  Aradma heard a rustle of fabric behind her, and without thinking, she dropped and rolled to the side. She barely avoided crackling purple lightning as it passed harmlessly overhead. The bolt of energy hit the throne and left a spherical imprint in it, vaporizing the center of its seat.

  I’m so sorry, she told her baby. Any gods who are listening, please make her be okay.

  She scrambled to her feet.

  Suddenly, Valkrage stood before her, his face not two inches from hers. For a single moment the purple in his eyes solidified, driving away the brown.

  “Graelyn,” he embraced her and whispered into her ear. “I am finished. You must complete what we started. Find the Stag Throne. It can touch the Kairantheum directly…” He pulled back and coughed. Her friends rushed to her. “I cannot hold on,” he hissed. “You must end me!”

  He stepped back and then suddenly he was yards away from her once more. He stood atop the ruined throne and opened his arms wide. “Now! Before I lose myself again!”

  Tiberan alone responded quickly enough, his hunter’s instinct prompting him to action. He sprinted forward, letting loose two arrows in the time it took to run two steps and leap into the air. The arrows buried themselves in Valkrage’s chest. Tiberan drew his daggers and landed on the wizard, plunging them into his sides.

  Valkrage gurgled blood and fell back under the huntsman’s assault. The purple faded from his eyes completely. All that remained in his gaze was the brown of his fading mortality.

  “You should have cut my throat,” he gave one last, gasping laugh, and with his final strength, he stretched out his hand and touched Tiberan’s face, uttering a single word of magic. A crackle of purple light enveloped the sidhe in a loud thunderclap.

  “NO!” Aradma screamed. “NO! NO!”

  Tiberan disintegrated in the light, vaporizing under the a
ssault of the Archmage’s final spell.

  Aradma rushed to the throne, forgetting her weariness, forgetting the aches and pains, forgetting even the safety of her child for a moment.

  But it was too late. Valkrage’s head fell back limply, and his now lifeless eyes stared into vacant nothingness. Tiberan was gone. Not even ashes remained.

  “NO!” she screamed again. “TIBERAN! Do not leave me…”

  She collapsed and wailed as sobs wracked her body. The scar on her belly burned. Ghost was there, too, sniffing around the dead sidhe. He looked mournfully up at the druid.

  Valkrage’s body started to glow, and little fingers of purple lightning crept over his body.

  “We gotta go!” Kristafrost shouted. “Run! Run!”

  Suleima and Eszhira dragged Aradma away from the throne.

  “Move!” Suleima shouted at the druid. She slapped Aradma across the face. “Move, for the sake of your daughter!”

  That brought the druid back into the moment. She ran, and behind them the energy built. Ghost ran beside them, all of them focused on the wooden gangplank at the edge of the grand balcony.

  The light built and energy crackled in the air around them.

  “Run, run, run!” Kristafrost shouted. She was the fastest of them, almost as fast as Ghost. The tiger bounded into the ship, followed by the gnome. Aradma would have been the slowest, as pregnant as she was, but Suleima would not let herself get ahead of the seelie woman.

  The four of them piled on the ship, and the ratlings withdrew the gangplank.

  “Get us out of here!” Yinkle shouted to the helmsman.

  “Aye-aye, ma’am!” he shouted back, and spun the wheel while turning various gears and levers.

  The airship shot forward, banking away from the tower’s top and climbing higher into the air as purple fire and lightning spilled out over the platform. A blast of heat buffeted the ship as it sailed away.

  Aradma looked back at God Spire. The purple light grew, and then sucked back into the tower. A loud boom echoed forth accompanied by the flash of an explosion, releasing the last vestiges of Eldrikura’s power into the elements. Sparkles of light permeated the sky in a gossamer glow, shimmering as they dissolved, and then disappeared. The airship sailed safely away. They all slumped to the bottom of the deck and breathed in relief.