When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “Even vampirism is the result of a goddess wanting to use us for her own purposes. Where do you think our hunger comes from? Malahkma, Goddess of Desire. Why do you think we bear the fangs of serpents? They are from the serpents that are the locks of her hair.

  “She infected the first of us with her emptiness in exchange for eternal life. But at what cost? Yes, it is a curse; you are not wrong to think so. You have no idea how the hunger drives us. The first vampires could not control themselves and they fed. Just as the fangs of Malahkma’s serpents made the original vampire, when we feed we inject Malahkma’s venom into our victims. When they die with our venom in their blood, they rise to become one of us, as you know.

  “The first to fall and rise again in Artalon had no defense against their own urges. They fed on the living, bleeding them dry. Then those too rose as vampires and the cycle continued. When the living were no more, the food supply was exhausted. Vampires cannot die from starvation, but the hunger becomes ever more dominating. They spread like locusts to towns and villages. When the living had all been turned, they spread again, and the cycle, as before, continued.

  “But horrible as this is, it is not their fault.

  “It was only by the Kaldorites organizing the first resistance that the spread of the contagion slowed. Vampires and living alike were killed in the ensuing war. Towns were either lost, or they were not. Vampires were either killed or contained to suffer un-satiated hunger until their desire—Malahkma’s desire—twisted them into little more than zombies.

  “This was the trick of the goddess—eternal torment as the mortal population succumbed to a hunger that cannot die. Without blood, a vampire eventually becomes so weak that movement is difficult. At its worst, a starving vampire lives as mist, solidifying only to feed. But we will not die. We will suffer. This is Malahkma’s endgame: hell on Ahmbren, and the yearnings of our desire would make her stronger than all the other gods. She would become the only god.

  “But the Gods of Light offer no better. They gave us the Archurionite Church, and the Archdragons themselves eventually put us under the Shadowlord’s rule. They resurrected the dead god Karanos, and for what? Was Karanos truly good? When Karanos killed the Black Dragon only to die again, he plunged the Empire into darkness—every aspect of our lives had become reliant on faith in him. Civilization fell, and the Gods of Light let this happen. The Archdragons were their messengers, and look at us now. The Black Dragon is dead, but his mother lives in my blood. Malahkma mothered all the Archdragons, so who really is behind the Archurionite Church, which first taught mortals to believe in the Gods of Light? The gods are no better than vampires, but instead of blood, they feed off our worship and adoration. They play games with each other, seeking to hoard worshippers. They all want to be a ‘one true god.’ Pantheons are only temporary alliances as they band together against stronger gods that threaten them.

  “You could slay every vampire. Surely, since I’ve confessed that what animates us is Malahkma’s blood, you might think it just. But it’s not our fault. More importantly, killing us will not slay the goddess. It will not undo her will.

  “There is a better way. We can turn this against her by mastering our desire. We can overcome the contagion that is vampirism by embracing it and making it our own. This is what Count Markus was able to do. He was the first to learn to manage his hunger, and learn to control the power the blood gave him.

  “He showed me he was still the same man he’d been before he was turned. Becoming a vampire did not change his mind nor his soul. It drove him with desire, but a man can master his desire. He was able to feed without killing. His loved ones offered their blood to him as a sort of medicine. It was a blood offering of love that kept the hunger at bay. He did not kill them, and now he is a master of his power. He is immortal, and does not suffer. And he is good.

  “He turned a select few, and offered freedom and safety to those of the living who offer their own blood. More importantly, those vampires unable to master their hunger, he killed. When a new vampire turns, if they slay the living, he kills them, too. The vampire population here is much reduced from what it once was; I was too blinded by my own ideology at first to see it.

  “The Covenant became popular, and spread throughout the land. The Bloodsworn—those among the living who support us—spread the faith and helped vampires move from town to town. At night, they cleaned up the countryside from those vampires too far gone to be saved. We call them the hungerbound. A war was waged between the Liberated—the vampires of the Covenant—and the hungerbound, and now the same war has spread to Roen. Count Markus has set himself against Count Pavlin in Artalon. In time, Roenti will become as we are.

  “Think of it. Vampires and mortals living in peace, and with far more freedom than they ever had under the Shadowlord. No more fighting. No more violent death. Civilization continues, and for some, eternal life. Give your blood, live your life, and then earn a true afterlife. Why accept the fate the gods have chosen for us? Imagine it. We become masters of our own destiny, and can choose our fate independent of any god. We achieve true peace, true freedom, and true communion with the line of our ancestors who will never die.

  “Those who do not choose to give of their blood can also live, as long as they submit to our rule. You may ask how there is freedom in that, but think of the alternative. Life as it has been? First it was the Dragon Wars, then the Darkling Empire, the Black Dragon and the first Fall of Artalon. Then the Throne Wars, and finally the threat of the Black Dragon again while civilization was subjugated under the Shadowlord for the purpose of raising yet another god. Klrain is dead, but now Malahkma enters our blood unchallenged with the natural consequence being an end to life, that every soul gets locked in perpetual hunger. She would become strong enough to devour the other gods. But if we fight her and stop this contagion, what other god’s game are we playing? What will be the next crisis where we need to turn to a god’s help, only to be set up again?

  “No more! We stop this cycle by refusing to play their game. Instead of being dominated by vampirism, we embrace it. We make it our own, and turn it against her. We don’t let ourselves fall to eternal hunger, and we don’t seek solace or help in the other gods and their unnamed price. We take hold of our own destiny.

  “This is why we call ourselves the Liberated. It is we who have denied the rules of life and death imposed upon us by the gods. They made us mortal and then lie to us about an afterlife. That is sadistic. It is we who have freed ourselves from their games.

  “Look at me. I am strong. I grow young again. If I were your enemy, I could have lured you in a million different ways. I could have killed you or turned you by force. However, we believe that people must freely submit to the Covenant. We want—I want—you to choose this for yourself. If you don’t, then I wish you well and you are free to remain and live here or depart. Just do not get in the way of others wanting to join us.

  “But Arda,” he leaned forward intently. “You know I’ve loved you for a long time, as a daughter. I do hope you’ll consider my offer and join the Covenant. Most start as Bloodsworn, but if you choose it, I am permitted to Liberate you now. All Kaldorites are given that honor. The count knows we are well trained in self-discipline, and he wants to show people that vampirism is something that can be mastered, not feared. Join me in this—not as my daughter, but as my wife.”

  Tulley fell silent, and folded his hands on his lap.

  A confusing swell of emotions stirred through Arda’s heart. Her black eyes watered. She was sad and angry, but also felt a strong pull of love for the man who had given her everything she was, and a flood of relief at knowing he would not hate her for what she had done. She realized she had feared his rejection more than anything else, and now here he was offering total acceptance. She only had to accept, in turn, what he had become.

  “I came to you to be judged,” she said. “I killed everyone in Traversham. I started with the vampires, and I had no idea about the Covenant. I d
id not understand the people wanted them there. When I saw those I thought I had freed offer themselves to the last of the… Liberated…” the word tasted funny in her mouth, “I slew them all.”

  Tulley stood and offered his hand to her. “I know,” he said. “I am sorry for them, and I am sorry for you. But the count understands, and offers you forgiveness in the Covenant. And I forgive you.”

  She took his hand and stood. He held her hands in front of him, looking straight into her eyes. He embraced her, and she surrendered to the release of guilt and shame, finally feeling relief. Tears fell down her cheeks, and she sobbed while he stroked the back of her head.

  When she collected herself, she took a step back and laid a hand on his breast. She felt no heartbeat. His eyes were a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of blue and green, and his face shown with deeply earnest love. And desire.

  She grew light-headed. She found his desire for her intoxicating, and her muscles relaxed. She swooned a bit, but maintained her footing. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  “Only for a moment,” he said.

  “I want to know what it feels like.” She turned her head to the side, offering her snowy neck to him.

  He pulled her close, his right hand pressing the small of her back towards him. He brushed his lips over hers, and she closed her eyes. His mouth kissed lightly down her cheeks and then to her neck. Her eyes shot open and she gasped. His fangs entered her, piercing through her skin and into the flesh. They stabbed deep, and she felt the pain through to her bones for a brief moment. Then a cold sensation filled her shoulder as the fangs ejaculated their venom, and her neck and shoulder grew numb. The sensation spread throughout her veins, and she could feel a soothing coolness flow down her arms and legs. It tingled pleasantly and relaxed her muscles from all tension and worry. A sense of wholesome well-being filled her, and she felt content with the world.

  Tulley drank from her blood, and it felt the most natural, wonderful thing she could do for him. This man had given her everything, raised her in the Kaldorite Order to love the values of the Light.

  He had taught her humility before the universe

  now he challenges the natural order of life and death

  the value of life and its joy

  now he is dead, and asks me to die with him

  freedom, truth, and individuality

  now he demands submission as the price for forgiveness

  She tried pushing away from him. “No,” she murmured.

  He continued suckling at her neck.

  “No!” she pushed away harder.

  For a moment, he fell away long enough for her so see the contorted grimace of pleasure on his face. His eyes glowed a soft yellow, and his fangs dripped with her blood.

  “Let it happen,” he whispered. “You will love us. It will all be okay.”

  He grabbed her again. She struggled but he was too strong.

  He lies. I am not free.

  Fear gripped her and she fought against him, but her limbs were caught in his embrace. She kneed him in the groin, but it had no effect on his undead body. Blood dripped from the open wounds on her neck.

  “You’ll see,” he said. “You just need to see for yourself.”

  He licked greedily at the blood flowing from her body, and then fastened his lips around the wound once more. She couldn’t feel the fangs penetrate again, but the sense of well-being increased, and she relaxed. He drank deeply, and she felt light-headed.

  It’s okay, she told herself. I did what I could. No one can blame me.

  She felt a strange curiosity as she examined her own thoughts. How odd, she reflected. That’s not the Kaldorite way of thinking.

  Curiosity grew into anger, and the sense of well-being somewhat subsided. Her body felt further and further away, and she knew it would not be long before he drank to the last of her life. She wondered what it would feel like to drink blood and have no heartbeat. How will blood move through my veins? Surely there was no way to avoid it now.

  Kaldor lives!

  She knew it in her soul, and its truth reverberated in the Light. Her heart clung to the idea like a rallying cry.

  “Kaldor lives,” she murmured softly, barely more than a whisper.

  “What?” he asked, lifting his head from her neck. His chin was covered in red with her blood. She felt the hot sticky fluid down her body, having dripped and flowed between her armor and skin.

  He propped her head up to meet his glowing eyes. “What did you say?”

  She felt the Light within her, and then she realized that even though Tulley had trained her, it was not he who had given her the Light. Kaldor had. The vessel of Archurion had shown mortals that they did not need to rely upon any god. That was the Kaldorite Code, those ten values of philosophy—not theology—that held the Light against the Dark.

  She was a paladin, a bastion of good against evil. She was Light’s embodiment, and Kaldor had shown them all the way.

  Tulley had failed the Light.

  A paladin who failed faced judgment by another of the Order.

  “Kaldor lives, you son of a bitch,” she whispered. The Light surged within her, and her body shown with a burst of brilliance.

  Tulley fell back against the wall, hissing and writhing on the ground.

  Arda stumbled and fell to her knees.

  “What have you done to me?” he gasped. “Your blood burns in my veins.” Smoke rose from his skin.

  “My blood is made sacred by the Light,” she declared, “and you are a creature of the Dark.”

  He coughed thick red fluid over his lips, which burned and blistered at its touch. Smoke flowed from his nose.

  She pulled herself slowly to her feet and stumbled uneasily for a moment before regaining her footing. She slowly drew her sword from its scabbard.

  “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. The hunger. The Covenant is good. The Covenant is our only way. Please don’t end me.”

  Tulley’s forgiveness had meant nothing. He no longer held the authority to judge her or offer her penance. She would seek out Kaldor to find her redemption. Tulley was lost to the Light.

  “You have lost your way,” she said, raising the sword. “Be freed by the Light.” She swung the sword in a low, clean arc from left to right.

  Tulley’s head fell away from his body, releasing her blood over the flagstones. His corpse continued to smoke.

  She slipped and caught herself with the blade’s hilt. She slumped over, fighting to stay conscious. The moment of strength had passed, and the Light’s healing touch was beyond her reach. If she died, she would still rise as a vampire.

  Light-brown hands reached down and pulled her to her feet. She raised her head to see the brown-skinned sorceress’s anxious eyes.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Anuit said.

  The sorceress pulled Arda through the shadows, and they reappeared in the tunnels beneath the castle.

  “How did you know?” Arda asked softly.

  “I had my imp follow you in case you needed help,” she said. “Remember our promise to each other?”

  Arda gave a weak smile. “Yes.” A cold blackness rose up her spine, creeping up to her head. “Anuit,” she whispered before she passed out. “Please don’t let me die.”

  10 - The Day the Music Died

  As Danry and Anuit waited for Arda to come back, Bestan returned from the market and made them a simple meal of bread and cold meats—salamis and thin-sliced smoked ham—made into sandwiches. Danry ate his, but Anuit’s meal remained largely untouched as night fell.

  Danry grew worried as the hours passed. Maybe Anuit had been right to send the imp after Arda. At least there was that. As long as the imp didn’t return, Arda was surely okay. Why would Tulley have wanted to meet separately? It made no sense.

  It had been dark for some time when the imp returned.

  “The paladin is in trouble,” the demon said.

  Anuit leaped to her feet. She raised her arms and darkness f
lowed from her like a spidery mist, concealing the entire room in pitch-dark shadow. Danry was blinded for a moment.

  “No, wait!” he protested.

  The darkness dropped from the room, returning to the light of oil lamps and the fireplace. Anuit was nowhere to be found.

  “Damn!” Danry stood. She had shadowjumped away, just as she had done in Rille. If only she had stopped to think for a moment and take him with her. He had no way of knowing where either of them was now.

  He grabbed his guitar and sword and made his way to the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Bestan asked. He stood in front of the door.

  “Where is Tulley?” he demanded.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” Bestan said. “I was never told, for my safety.”

  Danry frowned. “They’re in trouble. If you value at all the life of your master, think!”

  “I cannot tell you what I don’t know,” the boy said.

  A strange answer—then it suddenly hit the bard. The boy was kept ignorant as a precaution against Danry. For the first time, he noticed the two pinprick wounds on Bestan’s inner forearm. The boy was Covenant.

  “Get out of here,” he said through clenched teeth, “or I’ll kill you.”

  The boy scowled. “I cannot.”

  Danry yelled and grabbed Bestan’s shoulder. He threw him aside and opened the door, stepping out into the night air.

  What was he going to do? Astiana was a large city. They could be anywhere.

  “I would appreciate,” a woman said, “if you would not treat my son that way.”

  He turned and saw the woman, flanked by two other men, walking towards him on the street. Their eyes held a faint glow.

  “Gods fucking damn it!” he swore. He ducked back in the house and shut the door.

  The boy still leaned against the side wall, staring at Danry with a smug grin.

  The woman flung open the door, tearing it from its hinges. Danry backed up. He irrationally watched to see if she could enter, although he already knew the answer. She wore a twisted smile of amusement as she crossed the threshold. The tips of fangs barely protruded over her lips.