When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  Being a wizard was hard.

  When Kaldor finished his morning rites, he went downstairs to the kitchen. He released a simple spell, and the hearth fire immediately lit. He soon had water boiling for coffee—a Surafian delicacy—with eggs frying in the skillet and toast at the ready.

  Anuit was the first to join him. She no longer wore the green gown, which had seen better days. He recognized its magic when he first saw it and appreciated the desire to keep wearing a garment that would let its wearer grow neither hot nor cold. However, it was starting to unravel, and he guessed she hadn’t had time to repair it.

  Oriand had laid out clothes for each of them, and Anuit now wore the same style of white loose pants as he wore. Her blouse was tan, a few shades lighter than her skin, and extended just past her hips, cinched at the waist by a leather belt.

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied. “Please sit.” He poured her a mug of coffee.

  “What is this?” she asked. “Tea?” She smelled it. “It doesn’t smell like tea.”

  “No, it’s not tea,” he said. “It’s coffee. Beans are grown in the eastern plains and mountains of Surafel, the only place in this kingdom not touched by desert. They’re roasted, and then we run hot water through the grounds. It’s stronger than tea.”

  She sipped and grimaced. “It’s horrid.”

  He laughed. “And no matter what I do, the coffee grounds get everywhere. I can never seem to get them all off the floor. But you’ll get used to it. Maybe even like it. Here,” he offered her a tiny bowl of sugar lumps. “One or two of these will take the edge off. Maybe a little cream, too.”

  She put in two lumps, tasted again, and then added three more. After a spot of cream, she finally nodded. “That’s good.”

  “Worth a few stray coffee grounds here and there, I dare say.” He sat at the table. “Your friend is still asleep then?”

  “It’s been a tough time,” Anuit said. “We’re all exhausted.”

  “But you’re up.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She looked at him for a moment with a strange light in her eye. “I’m not a bad person.”

  He settled into his chair. “I never said you were.”

  “But you think it.”

  He realized what this was about. “You’re a sorceress,” he stated.

  “You destroyed the Darkling Empire because they were sorcerers,” she said. “Right?”

  He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Archurion did. I spent most of my life being one with him, so you could say that. But it was not me. I didn’t destroy Artalon. I do remember it, though. I mean, I remember remembering.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Have you ever had a dream that you remember?” he asked, “And then a year later, you remember thinking about the dream. You remember what you thought about it the next day, and maybe what you told someone else it was about, but you can no longer directly recall the dream itself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Archurion’s memories are like that,” he said. “And only his most powerful ones—the ones that had most relevance to my life as an avatar.”

  “Yes, I am a sorceress,” she stated, coming back to the point. “But I’m not a bad person. Arda is my friend. I know you’re important to her, and she wants to follow you on whatever it is you want to do. I come with her.”

  He smiled sadly. “Anuit, it’s not about you being a good or bad person. You’re a sorceress. I’m sure your intentions are good. So was Artalon’s, in the beginning. Sorcery is dangerous.”

  Anuit smirked. “I’m aware. I can handle it. I won’t let any harm come to Arda.”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. It is not Arda for whom I fear. May I presume you’re from a small coven? A family perhaps?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “And may I presume that you don’t come from a whole culture of sorcerers? That your knowledge is limited to what you were taught by one or two people, who in turn were taught by one or two people, since Artalon fell?”

  She gave a smug grin.

  “And any knowledge beyond that, you’ve gleaned directly from your demons?”

  Her grin vanished.

  “I’ve dealt with a nation of sorcerers. I’ve seen its effects. Did you know your demons do not exist without you?”

  Anuit froze. “You mean they don’t exist here,” she corrected him. “They depend upon me to be here.”

  He shook his head. “No. They were made from you,” he replied softly. “You did not summon them. You gave birth to them.”

  “You’re lying,” she accused in a whisper. She continued to stare at him, unblinking.

  “From conception,” he told her, “every demon schemes to learn how to outlast their master’s mortality. They are made from a piece of your soul, folded into divine space-time, and shaped by the demon lord you contacted. A demon lord is one who figured out how to escape its master.”

  “How do they escape?”

  “There are a few ways I know of,” he said. “The most direct way is to lead their master to suicide. When a sorcerer takes his own life, the demon closest to him can claim it and become truly immortal. No such demon would ever enter a pact after winning his freedom, so don’t delude yourself into thinking any such demon answered your summons. These are the Lords and Ladies of Dis. They do not serve, but they help shape the piece of your soul you offer up into just the right kind of demon that could win its own freedom. That’s how they grow their ranks. Sorcery is nothing more than demonic procreation.”

  Anuit looked at him, stunned into silence. He could see turmoil across her face. She was probably listening to her demons’ counter arguments right now. Kaldor pressed his point.

  “There are other ways,” he said. “Sometimes a sorceress is too strong-willed to take her own life. This sort of sorceress is truly evil, and it’s harder for the demons to twist her against herself to cause the kind of despair that would drive self-destruction. I knew of one woman who figured out how to displace the souls of her daughters. She transferred her spirit into the younger body and gained another lifespan. Her demons helped her, for each lifespan she won, they too won continued existence. Dis would not favor such demons, for they prove too weak to win true immortality. This is why demons prefer sorcerers of good intent. They are easier to destroy. I encountered this sorceress before Aaron ascended the throne but she escaped me. I don’t know whatever happened to her; she could still be out there, possessing the bodies of her daughters.”

  Anuit went pale.

  “My concern is not whether or not you’re a good person. My concern is that if you continue on this path, it won’t matter. Your fears of being left behind are unfounded. Trust me when I say your demons want you isolated. I would not try to separate you from Arda,” he said. “It’s obvious you love this woman, and love may save you in the end.”

  The sorceress started. “What? No I don’t! I mean, not like that.”

  He stared at her for a moment. He had meant sisterly love, as two comrades in arms, but she had seemed to interpret something completely different… Ah! Because she was coming to terms with her own feelings. “Oh, I see,” he said.

  “See what?”

  “You’re like Oriand.”

  “Oriand?”

  “You prefer the love of women.”

  She looked down at the table. He understood. She felt alone and confused. It was yet another aspect of her being that isolated her from everyone else around her.

  “Bryona tells me that makes me like her,” Anuit murmured. “She tells me I must fuck a man to be good.”

  Anger moved Kaldor and he clenched his fist, pounding it on the table. Anuit jumped in surprise.

  “This is what I’m talking about,” he said. “There’s nothing demonic about love. This is how they twist you. They trick you into hating your own nature, and if you take a man to your bed, you’ll
only hate yourself more.” He calmed down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “There are many in this world that detest what is different, especially when it comes to love and sex. Of all the real problems in the world, who you want to sleep with is not one of them.”

  “You knew someone like me,” she said.

  “Friends,” he nodded. “I hated it when people judged them. Valkrage and Aaron were as you are. It took them some time to be comfortable in that. For all their faults, their love was not one of them.”

  Anuit looked up. Her brow furrowed quizzically. “Valkrage and Aaron… the Shadowlord? There are… men… like me? Men who love other men?”

  He chuckled. “Indeed.”

  “You?”

  He shook his head. “Goodness no,” he said. “Were I twenty years younger, I would lament the fact that you could never have eyes for me.”

  Well, there’s a little lie. Twenty years makes no difference.

  She blushed. “I don’t think—Arda confuses me. She seems interested, but I know she likes men, too.”

  Kaldor shrugged. “Her nature is open like Aaron’s was. He thought he loved Sidhna first, but he fell for Valkrage instead. If there is to be love between you, allow it to be as it will.”

  Anuit folded her arms. “He might have been ‘Aaron’ to you. We lived under him as the Shadowlord. I’m not sure I like us being compared to him.”

  Kaldor shook his head. “He was a good man. Valkrage…” he trailed off.

  “I thought you said they were lovers.”

  “They were. Valkrage loved him and hated what he had to do, and I hated Valkrage for it. But that’s done now. The Black Dragon is dead, and so are they.”

  “And now the Old Gods return,” Anuit said, “and Malahkma’s blood infects the lands. We’re worse off than before.”

  Kaldor sighed. “That’s why we have to leave and journey south. There was a final phase to Valkrage’s plan, but that was hidden from me. Or it’s one of the things I just can’t remember. A human mind can only hold a few centuries of memory in the best of cases. Physical limitation of our brains. Most of the time, we can only remember a single lifetime. Mortal memory matches the capacity of their race’s lifespan.”

  “But Aaron lived for a thousand years,” Anuit noted.

  “Yes, because of the power we gave him. He forgot his past. Valkrage guided him.”

  Anuit didn’t respond, deep in thought.

  Arda joined them. She was dressed similarly to Anuit but with a blue blouse. Oriand followed her down, dressed in the same style, but all in black.

  “Ah good,” Kaldor said. “Here, let’s all have breakfast before the serious talk. I’d prefer sitting on the sofa and chairs for that.”

  Arda nodded. She seemed unsure of herself.

  “Arda,” Kaldor said. “I’m not a Kaldorite.”

  The paladin blinked. “What?”

  “I’m only human,” he said. “I never took vows, and I haven’t been able to channel the Light in centuries. As I said last night, I’m not part of your Order. Stop treating me as your commanding officer.”

  She blinked again.

  He hugged her. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  She hesitantly returned the hug.

  “Very well,” he said. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Oriand and Arda sat and ate. Anuit picked at her food.

  “I noted the magic in your gown,” Kaldor said to Anuit, changing the subject. “You have a natural talent for weaving.”

  Anuit looked at him, surprised by the statement. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. It’s not from sorcery.”

  “I know,” Kaldor grinned. “It’s Old Magic, the kind that is only found in art. I too am skilled. If we had more time, we would make desert robes, but we don’t have that luxury. At least at this time of year the desert is pleasant rather than hot. Maybe when we’re done with all this I can show you a thing or two.”

  Anuit’s face glimmered with a warm smile. “Yes, I would like that,” she agreed.

  After breakfast, they all sat with fresh mugs of coffee around the coffee table in front of the living room hearth. It wasn’t that cold, so Kaldor didn’t light the fire. The warmth from the oven hearth in the kitchen was quite enough.

  Kaldor sipped at the bitter coffee. He didn’t put cream or sugar in it. It reminded him of years past as a young man before the gnomish wizard Xandelbrot had found him and brought him to Taer Iriliandrel. Three loose grounds floated at the top of the dark liquid.

  “I wanted to wait until you were all here so I would only have to go through this once,” he said. “I had expected more paladins but that’s fine. Here we are. I know you want to know what is in the desert and why I need to go there, but bear with me. I’ll get to it. There are some other things I need to tell you first. I need to go back to the beginning and tell you the true history of Ahmbren.

  “First. Dragons are not gods, nor are they the children of gods. And neither are you.”

  22 - Kaldor’s Tale

  Kaldor paused and looked for a reaction. Both Arda and Anuit waited patiently for him to continue. Oriand alone seemed troubled by his words.

  “That’s not what Rajamin teaches,” Arda finally commented. “But Aradma would be interested to hear you say that.”

  “Who is Rajamin?” Kaldor asked.

  “I know of him,” Oriand said accusingly. “A ratling priest. He teaches your Old Religion.”

  “Ah, yes. My ‘Old Religion’. Archurion’s Old Religion. It’s a bit more complicated than that. As I said, the Archdragons were simply the greatest dragons, who, through magic, forged direct connections to the mystical elements: Light, Dark, Life, and Time. But they weren’t gods. Dragons—even the Archdragons—are mortal, just like you.”

  “Mortal!” Arda exclaimed. “They live forever!”

  “No,” Kaldor said. “Dragons evolved on this planet just like the younger races. They were only the first to achieve intelligence, and then magic. Their lifespan is so long that they are considered immortal by your histories. A dragon can live for hundreds of thousands of years. Channeling the elemental forces expanded the Archdragons’ lifespans to millions of years. For a long time, they ruled the world, before what you call ‘the mortal races’ evolved.”

  “Evolved?” Oriand asked.

  “We all come from Ahmbren herself,” Kaldor said. “All life expands and grows and changes over time. A long, long time. It is nature.”

  Oriand nodded, satisfied with his answer at first. Then she frowned. “No, that’s impossible. If that were true, then the gods wouldn’t have created us.”

  Kaldor stared at her intently. “Indeed. You were not created.”

  The three women settled back. Now he knew he had their attention.

  Oriand shook her head, still frowning. “What are the gods, if they didn’t create us?”

  “We don’t know. They are strong, more powerful than even the Archdragons were. Dragons awoke from dragonsleep to find the beginnings of mortal civilization, seemingly cultivated by the gods they worshipped. All we know about the gods is that they come from the Kairantheum.”

  “What is that?” Arda asked.

  “Divine space-time,” Kaldor answered. “Even our magic has not been great enough to penetrate its mysteries. It is unfathomably powerful.”

  “So you…”

  “So we—I mean they—submitted themselves to the pantheon,” Kaldor replied. “What else could we do? To the other races, the dragons may as well have been gods, and unsurprisingly, they started to worship them—particularly the Four—alongside their pantheon. But then something strange happened.”

  Kaldor stopped and took a sip from his mug. He stared thoughtfully at the black liquid for a moment, and its steam fogged his spectacles. He wiped them off and then continued. “The gods started believing we were gods, too.”

  “Why?” Anuit asked. “That makes no sense.”

  Oriand answered. “Because,” the troll said with a deep breath, “th
e gods were changed by people’s faith.”

  Kaldor nodded. “Exactly. The gods believed what their worshippers believed.” He sighed. “Klrain wouldn’t bow his head to them. Though they elevated us to their ranks, we were the least of them in their eyes. The Black Dragon tried to destroy the faithful, and the Three defended the lesser races. I don’t know exactly when Klrain fell to evil, but his mind broke. I believe he was possessed by his element. Or somehow, his madness infected the Dark. I’m not sure which.”

  “So what happened?” Arda prompted.

  “The first Dragon War. It took all three of us to force him back into dragonsleep, and we had to join him to keep him there. All dragonkind was pulled back into slumber, and we withdrew from the world. This was the end of the First Age.”

  “Then, in the Second Age, the sidhe tried to exterminate the human race,” Arda remarked.

  Kaldor cocked his head. “Well, after Artalon was created nine thousand years later, yes. But we could sit here for days discussing the build-up to that. The High Elven Imperium is important for two reasons—they felt threatened by the gnomes of Artalon teaching wizardry to humans, and—”

  “You mean the sidhe tried to wipe out a race because they started to learn magic?” Anuit asked incredulously. “That’s… insane.”

  Kaldor nodded. “Indeed. Human wizards eventually controlled Artalon, but the thing is, there are layers to Artalon’s mysteries that even the Archdragons never uncovered. There was something about the city itself that the sidhe feared, and it’s possible we may never understand why they initiated a genocidal war. The only reason this is important now is that this fear of extermination proved the opportunity Klrain needed to escape dragonsleep.”