When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  The king sat on the bench beside him, inviting the dwarf to sit back down again. Attaris did so and waited for the king to speak his mind.

  “You’re a runewarden of Modhrin,” the king began.

  “Aye.”

  Donogan leaned forward on his knees, clasping his gloved hands. “Before the Empire, Hammerfold was a favored land of Modhrin. His ways beat in the hearts of our people.”

  Attaris nodded. “Aye.”

  “I’m in a strange situation I hope you can help me with,” Donogan said.

  “What would you have me do, Majesty?”

  “Rajamin’s intending to go on this expedition,” the king said. “As the head of the Church, I can’t exactly ask him not to go. He’s within his rights.”

  Attaris didn’t respond, but waited for Donogan to continue.

  “You understand our people and our land,” the king said. “Your god is our god. Rajamin sees all gods, for all people. I want a runewarden there, someone who understands the gods, but someone who also understands our land.”

  “You want me to make sure the ratling doesn’t sell us out under some notion of a higher plan.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other,” the king said. “I’m willing to listen to what this duke has to say but Hammerfold comes first. As a priest of Hammerfold’s god, I trust you to look after the interests of our people.”

  Attaris nodded.

  Hylda couldn’t go. Rajamin didn’t like the Kaldorite order in the least. They had a connection to the Light that didn’t require any gods. But he could go. He was a runewarden in Windbowl long before Rajamin ever came, and the ratling couldn’t deny him that. He had as much a right to Church business as any runewarden.

  “I’ll go,” the dwarf affirmed. “I’ll make sure we don’t do anything bloody stupid.”

  The king rose, and Attaris followed suit.

  “Thank you,” Donogan said. “Hammer hallow the road before you.”

  Attaris smiled. “Hammer hallow the road before you, Your Majesty, and may your ancestors watch the road behind.”

  Attaris lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling in their apartment, hands crossed behind his head. Hylda came to bed in a long white night gown and snuggled in beside him. She laid her head on his shoulder and tousled his orange beard with her fingers.

  “I know that look,” she said.

  “The king’s asked me to go tomorrow to Kriegsholm with the rest of them,” he responded.

  “Because…?”

  “He doesn’t trust the ratling.”

  She lifted her head and arched an eyebrow. “That’s interesting.”

  Attaris snorted. “You don’t trust the ratling either.”

  “No,” she disagreed, “he doesn’t trust me. You know I don’t have a problem with gods, you wool beard!” She tugged at his chin hairs and he jumped.

  “Ow!”

  He relaxed, and she settled back into his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her.

  “I know,” he conceded. “I just… I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t like the king’s request?”

  “No, I trust the king,” Attaris said. “I don’t like that he had to make the request. We’re all on the same side.”

  “It’s never that simple, you know that,” she said. “Rajamin wants the Order to trade in its Ten Values for his Ten Gods. He can’t calculate why we wouldn’t.”

  “He doesn’t have a problem with the other ratlings who don’t join his Church,” Attaris said. “Now, come to think of it, he doesn’t seem bothered by anyone not coming to Church.”

  “Yet,” she stated dryly. “But we paladins touch the Light directly, without need for runes or prayers. Druids hold the power of Life, also without a god in between them. He’s suspicious. The Light is not like magic. We’re not like wizards.”

  “Aye,” Attaris nodded, and sighed. “Light and Life are the province of the gods. Yes, I’ve heard him say this before.”

  “Well, he means well,” Hylda murmured sleepily and yawned. “I’m glad you’re going, though. Rajamin respects you.”

  “Not really. Only because she does,” he said. “He adores her, and he knows she listens to me.”

  “Well, be happy for it,” her voice grew softer. “Without her, things would have fallen apart sooner.”

  “You know,” he said, changing the subject. “I really don’t like traveling any more. I hate that I’m going to miss Highwinter.”

  Hylda responded only with the rhythmic breathing of someone who had fallen asleep in the arms of her mate.

  It was just after the new year, and a light afternoon snow fell on the frosted road as the company approached Kriegsholm. The sky was overcast, and the road’s mud was still frozen from the night before without sun to warm the afternoon. They descended from the foothills into the plains on which the town lay, just inside the border of Hammerfold.

  Attaris sat in the carriage buggy beside Rajamin. Across from him sat Duke Montevin with Seredith beside him. The revenant stayed still, neither moving nor speaking. She wore a black robe with a deep hood pulled over her head. Her face and eyes hid behind the shadows of its depths. Her shrouded body looked like a corpse sitting there as still as she did, not even breathing. Attaris shuddered. She was a corpse.

  The old ratling’s whiskers drooped, and his head and body had thickened with gray. His large black eyes glittered intelligently as he stared out the window at the rooftops of Kriegsholm. He had not questioned why Attaris had come. None of them had.

  “I wish Aradma were here for this,” Rajamin finally said. His voice had grown hoarse over the years, and his little ratling nose twitched when he spoke.

  “There will be seelie rangers,” Attaris commented. He knew Aradma did not like the special importance Rajamin seemed to place on her.

  “It’s not the same,” the ratling replied, but added no further comment.

  Two priests—two runewardens, Attaris corrected his thoughts—and two wizards. All four of them were skilled. What a company they made. There was certainly no reason to think they would be outmatched. They could hold their own against vampires.

  Seredith wore wizard robes of the old style that had been standard in centuries past. Few wizards today wore the classical robes outside of formal ceremony. Duke Montevin wore the shirt and trousers of a modern gentleman. His need for pockets to carry the assortment of magical trinkets required for spellwork was met by a modern frock coat, complete with top frock.

  Montevin’s fingers were folded over his lap, and he stared intently at them, lost deep in thought. Like all wizards, he saw the world in terms of numbers and mathematical calculations. It formed the basis of his magical art.

  Attaris didn’t understand wizardly magic in the least. They carried full pockets of a seemingly endless supply of odds and ends of no identifiable value. And they always had wands. However, he couldn’t tell when or for what they were needed. It wasn’t like rune magic—Attaris always needed his runes to access his god’s divine power. Wizards seemed to show no such consistency, casting spells with only the power of their words in one moment, and then pulling out their wands the next. Their art seemed strangely incoherent and chaotic for people whose minds were so ordered and logical.

  Attaris remembered a conversation he had once with Danry the bard during one of his travels in his younger days. Danry had asked him if wizards were so damned powerful, why didn’t they rule the world? More importantly, why didn’t they free the Realms from the Shadowlord?

  Because, Attaris had said, wizardry was hard. It took a rare and sharp mind to grasp its concepts, much less be able to pull off a spell. Most people just weren’t capable of being wizards, any more than they were capable of understanding all theory and craft behind gnomish engineering. There were too few wizards to rule the world, much less save it, and the Empire had pretty much stomped out the knowledge from all but its sidhe administrators. The only thriving community of human wizards he knew of was in Windbowl, wh
ich had been spared the Imperial edicts. Still, even then, there weren’t enough wizards to guarantee the city’s safety, which was why the Montevin family had welcomed sorcerer covens.

  That was all past now. Sorcerers were no longer in Windbowl, the Empire had fallen, the duchy had rejoined Hammerfold’s throne, and now they had paladins, druids, and rangers to defend their borders.

  The majority of Kriegsholm lay on the Astian side of the river. The border between the two realms had shifted over the centuries until Aaron’s rule had made such things as country borders irrelevant. With the spread of the vampire contagion, Hammerfold had moved quickly to secure the town, and once crowned, Donogan had declared it his sovereign territory. Hammerfold’s quick restoration of its throne and kingly authority was a direct result of Windbowl’s independence from Artalonian rule through the years. Windbowl still saw itself as subjects of Hammerfold’s throne, and Montevin had supported restoring the royal bloodline. Astia enjoyed no such continuity to pre-Imperial times, and so was not organized enough to offer up any challenge.

  The old castle of Kriegsholm’s lords had fallen into ruin long ago, and it was no longer usable. The city’s wall was in similar disrepair, having crumbled over time so that there were holes and gaps in its structure.

  The carriage made its way across the southern of two river bridges. On the riverside was the town square, a few streets south of the old castle. Its buildings rose over the surrounding houses and shops, with tall walls and structures built together, and high triangular roofs boxing in the cobblestone square.

  The carriage stopped in the city before the town hall. The hall followed the style of Hammerfold architecture with angular wooden frames filled by white plaster that hid the stone and brick beneath it. The wood was painted red, and matching shutters framed narrow rectangular glass windows. The mayor and his wife came out from the town hall to greet them, word having been sent ahead of the duke’s arrival. The coachman opened the door, and the duke exited first.

  “Welcome, Duke Montevin!” the mayor said. “I cannot tell you how much we appreciate your coming.”

  “Thank you, Jorey,” Montevin responded. “And you look lovely as ever, Magda.”

  Rajamin followed the duke out of the cart and clucked happily when Jorey and Magda took his hands and kissed his knuckles.

  Attaris waited for Seredith to exit the carriage. She may have been a corpse, but she was still a lady. He didn’t blame her for her condition, nor his discomfort around her. All talk fell to silence outside when she emerged, standing deathly still beside the duke. Attaris climbed out behind her, grateful to move his stiff knees once more.

  “This way,” Jorey beckoned to the hall. “I have a meal ready for you, and I’m sure you’ll want to discuss the matter. You’re just in time. The count arrives after nightfall.”

  A stone farmhouse, one of the last structures before the border between the two realms, sat a quarter mile east of the city. It was a one-room dwelling with an upstairs attic serving as a bedroom. The downstairs was large enough to house a long table that could seat both delegations. Despite its modesty, Jorey was adamantly against willfully inviting vampires into the city. Duke Montevin agreed.

  Attaris made a point of lighting the hearth fire, as fire could kill vampires, and he wanted it visible through the negotiations.

  Duke Montevin sat at the table’s head side by side with Seredith. Her traditional black robes shrouded her features completely. Her place marked her as his equal in the discussion with the count. Jorey sat to his right, and beside him were his two chief rangers, a seelie man named Tarrin and Jorey’s wolven son Arlen. Rajamin sat to the duke’s left with Attaris beside him. He and Arlen would be closest to the count’s delegation. Attaris patted the hammers at his side, knowing that Modhrin was with him.

  In the town hall earlier, they had debated heatedly on how the peace summit would go. Rajamin had wanted to do the talking, but in the end, they’d agreed that Seredith would speak. Any decisions, however, would be made by Duke Montevin, who had the most experience in governance and statecraft. Seredith was intelligent—she was a wizard after all—but she was still a young woman. Well, she would have been had she been alive. She could guide the discussion, as the appearance of her leading would also be something the count would not have calculated. Rajamin had protested but in the end he was overruled. Attaris had noted that even though Seredith’s lead had already been the king’s expectation, they still had to resist Rajamin’s inclination to take control.

  Dusk fell and they waited. No food or drinks were set. There was no call for hospitality, and the vampires couldn’t partake in any case.

  The duke folded his arms on the table and shifted into his wolven form. His coat, clothing, and all other items were absorbed into the wolf-man body, and he sat as a naked, furred beast. Arlen did not change form and remained beside the seelie in his human body.

  Twenty minutes later, wolven rangers opened the door. “Count Markus,” one of them announced.

  Markus stood in the doorway, dressed in an impeccable black suit and frock coat with a white ruffled shirt underneath. He carried a gentleman’s waist-high cane with a simple silver head. His gaze swept the room and came to rest on the seelie. His eyes gave off a soft orange luminescence, and the points of his fangs extended from his upper lips.

  Arlen gave a low growl. The blue rings around Tarrin’s gold irises shone brightly in response to the vampire’s stare.

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” the count apologized smoothly. “It is an unconscious reaction of my… condition… to that.” He nodded towards the seelie. “Would you be so kind as to invite me in, or do you prefer to treat with me here?”

  He was not what Attaris expected. He did seem in control.

  Seredith removed the hood from her head and stared at the count with her milky eyes. The dead gray flesh on her face stretched over her skull as she forced her lips and throat to make the words. “In the name of King Donogan, sovereign of Hammerfold, I invite you in to our table,” she rasped.

  It worked as Aradma intended. Count Markus lost control of his composure for one brief instant. A frown of concern flashed over his face as he locked eyes with the revenant, and then it was gone. His expression returned to its calm benevolence, betrayed only by the glowing eyes and fangs. He gave a slight bow and stepped into the room. The white pallor of his face became apparent in the hearth light, contrasting sharply against his black coat.

  Five others followed him inside, three vampires and two living, human men. One of the vampires was a darkling male, the other two a human woman and man. The three vampires reacted to the seelie’s presence as their count had, but they also maintained control. The delegation sat at the end of the table opposite the duke and Seredith.

  “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Count Markus asked. “I understand the king sends a proxy—my own sovereign queen sent me.”

  “I am Seredith,” she responded simply.

  “No rank or title?” Markus seemed surprised.

  “The duke sits to my right, but I am the king’s envoy,” she stated. “Speak your piece.”

  “Very well then,” he responded.

  He really does look uncomfortable, Attaris thought to himself. Maybe all this wasn’t necessary. Count Markus seemed okay. He pinched himself under the table. This was exactly why Aradma had suggested sending Seredith, and why the count probably felt uncertain. The vampire couldn’t charm the revenant.

  “Some of us, as you can see,” Count Markus began, “have learned to control our disease—to live with it rather than be ruled by it. We are its victims and have learned to coexist in peace with the people of Astia—our friends, our loved ones, our families. Now that we have control, they understand we are not monsters. We did not choose this.

  “We’ve achieved peace in ourselves, and we’ve achieved peace with our fellow countrymen. Now all we want is peace with our neighbors. There is no cause for enmity between our realms. We are
not at war!”

  “I do not agree,” Seredith replied. Her crackling voice held no emotion. It stated facts. “Our border towns have lost much in keeping your kind from infecting our lands.”

  “I understand,” the count replied smoothly. “Those are the hungerbound. Those are the ones who have lost their humanity to the thirst. It is a powerful disease; its hunger is hard to resist. It took years before some of us were able to do so. Roen has no such Covenant with its people; the vampires there are monsters. If we are to be at war, let us be at war as allies against the common foe of Roenti. It is unfortunate, but there are those that cannot be saved, and they must be considered lost. But surely you have the wisdom to see the difference in monsters and victims who have made peace and learned to live with our condition.”

  “Perhaps,” Seredith responded noncommittally. “Proceed with your argument.”

  Rajamin’s nose twitched, but he kept his silence.

  “As a gesture of good faith,” the count continued, “I share with you this news. My spies report that Roenti too has found some measure of control, but Count Pavlin is not like me.”

  “You mean the High Templar!” Rajamin exclaimed.

  The count regarded him silently for a moment. “The same,” he confirmed, “but Templar no longer. He embraces the hunger. He rejects the struggle for humanity, unlike my Covenant and I. Instead of seeking to coexist with mortalkind and curb the spread of the contagion, he seeks to expand. Deliberately expand. Where once you fought mindless addicts at your borders, unable to think beyond their next blood fix, now you’ll face the hungerbound with an intelligent will behind it for utter domination. He seeks to consume my country as well, but he will soon move on yours.

  “Our Covenant spread because our people freely chose it. The Bloodsworn give of their blood, and we give them protection against the hungerbound. We cleansed our lands utterly of those vampires who posed a threat, and we submitted ourselves to the sovereign law of our queen. No one is turned against their own will. No one gives their blood against their own will. We serve as the queen’s chosen, and the people accept us as protectors. Those who do not wish to become Bloodsworn in the Covenant, we leave in peace, still enjoying the bounty of our protection.