When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “And now we cannot escape it,” Kaldor muttered.

  “There is one thing that can control the Kairantheum,” Athra’s Jewel responded. “The city of Artalon was not built just as a city. It is itself a magical talisman. The gnomes also discovered the nature of the Kairantheum—they were descended from dragons, and their magic rivaled the sidhe—and built Artalon to be the solution to the problem. All its towers are arranged to direct the flow of arcane energy, and each tower is part of the same construct. The towers are protrusions from a mile-wide disk underneath the ground. At the central focus of Artalon’s magical geometry is the Stag Throne, atop the central spire. The secret to unlocking the Stag Throne was never uncovered by Valkrage, nor did he uncover the specific manner in which Artalon would balance the Kairantheum. Unlock Artalon, and you can return the Kairantheum to mortal control.”

  “That’s it then,” Kaldor said. “That’s what Valkrage wanted me to know. The Kairantheum is not natural.”

  “And that Artalon be used to control it,” Anuit murmured. “It means gods can be commanded, like demons.”

  Oriand startled them. She threw back her head and uttered a cry of despair, weeping as if something inside her had died. Kaldor stood and went to her. He sat on the chair’s arm and took Oriand’s head to his breast.

  “I know,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I know.”

  She sobbed, tears flowing freely.

  Anuit fidgeted uncomfortably.

  “All lies!” Oriand cried out. “It’s all been the lies of elves! We have lived as slaves for tens of thousands of years,” Oriand lamented. “The gods are lies. My people, oh my people! What have I done to you?”

  “Shhh,” Kaldor said. “It wasn’t you. You were born to it. Be free in the truth.”

  Oriand clutched his shoulders, grasping the folds of his robe. She buried her face in his chest and allowed her body to release its grief. He patted and soothed her until her anguish softened.

  Arda knelt beside her chair and placed her hands on Oriand’s shoulders.

  “Darklings are hated in many lands. I know what it is like to be without a home,” Arda said. “You are not alone.”

  Anuit also rose and came over beside Oriand. She sat at Oriand’s feet and laid her head against the troll’s knee.

  Anuit recalled her adopted mother and mentor, Marta. She remembered the lies Marta had told. “You are not alone,” Anuit said. “I know what it’s like to live under a lie.” The four of them sat in silence for a while. Athra’s Jewel stared at them without expression.

  “Thank you,” Oriand finally said. “I’m better now. Thank you.”

  They returned to their seats.

  “This knowledge is dangerous,” Arda finally broke the silence. “People kill those who threaten their convictions.”

  “The gods are unbound, unlike demons,” Anuit stated. “They will fight us to keep their freedom. They will fight our control.”

  “This is why Valkrage hid this knowledge in an artificial construct,” Kaldor realized. “Something completely devoid of soul, of magic, of sentience. A machine. No life force that could be read. Nothing to inform the Kairantheum.”

  “But now we know,” Oriand said. “Will not our thoughts be captured by the gods?”

  “In time,” Kaldor confirmed, “but you cannot pray to her any more.”

  Oriand sipped her coffee. “My days of prayer are finished.”

  “And you,” Kaldor turned to Anuit. “You must command your demons not to speak with any other demons. They are not to visit the city of Dis.”

  Anuit nodded. “I understand.”

  “Right now,” Kaldor insisted.

  Anuit set her coffee down. She closed her eyes and Belham and Bryona appeared.

  “I command you both to cease all contact with others, demon or mortal. You will not travel to Dis. You will speak to me and me alone, unless I otherwise allow it. You will not communicate with anyone else.”

  Both demons fumed in silence. Belham’s eyes flashed in anger and Bryona hissed. Despite their rage, they bowed their heads in acknowledgement. “As you command, my lady,” Bryona stated in a firmly held monotone.

  “As you command,” Belham repeated. Then the two of them vanished.

  Kaldor nodded, satisfied.

  “First,” he said, “We need to go north. I want to meet this Aradma. We’ll need allies before venturing into Artalon, and I think the Heart of the Dragon should be part of it. In the meantime, Anuit, I’m going to need your help.”

  “For what?” Anuit asked.

  Kaldor grinned. “I’m going to teach you to fly.”

  28 - The Prodigal Daughter

  Sidhna flowed over the nighttime land of Roenti. Her misty form poured through the air over the boundary to her lands as she felt and contemplated the sovereign border between Roenti and Hammerfold. She could cross the border, but her instinct knew there was no place of rest for her there. If she were caught at dawn without soil from her homeland, then she may as well fly into the sun. Every time she approached it, she felt a pressure in her mind. She could trace its exact edges.

  Somehow, Count Markus had convinced Kriegsholm to submit itself to his rule. She had no illusions about who truly ruled Astia—it wasn’t his queen. But whatever magic guided their blood also responded to the power of mortal thrones.

  She flew high, pressing up against the edge of the border but choosing to not pass through it. Suddenly, the border snapped, shocking her consciousness with a mental thunderclap. It fell away and vanished.

  She stopped, astonished. Her mist body hovered for a moment in stillness.

  The border was gone.

  She flowed north, cautiously at first and then wildly with glee. The land was hers! Sovereign rule had ended! She flowed into a small town, forty miles north of where the border had been. People lay huddled in their beds at night, sleeping. City guards patrolled the streets.

  She gathered into a dark alleyway, solidifying as the elven woman. Pulling a passing guard into the shadows, she drained him dry and discarded his body in an empty barrel.

  She suffered the same limitations as her children. She could not enter a house uninvited, but it had never proved a problem for her. She was a young, attractive elven woman, and as far as she knew, the only elven vampire. Seelie could not rise as vampires—she didn’t know why—and she was the only sidhe to be turned. The remaining few high elves who had been in Artalon when she first awakened had all fled. No one expected an elven maiden would be among the infected.

  She knocked on one of the house doors.

  “Who is it?” a voice called out. They weren’t quite stupid.

  She adopted her most innocent, silky voice. “Something’s happened to the guard,” she whispered back. “Please, let me in. I think I’m being chased. Please help me.”

  The door opened a crack and a man looked out at her. “An elf!” he exclaimed. “My lady, what are you doing here? It’s not safe in human lands!”

  She stared at him seriously. “I know. I was sent with a message for the king, but I had to flee the main roads.”

  “Vampires aren’t this far north,” he said. “Are you sure?”

  “Sir,” she said. She leaned forward to accent her open neckline. “Vampires aren’t the only thing that would disturb a maiden on the roads at night.”

  He gulped. “You’re right.” He opened the door wide. “Please, come in.”

  She smiled at him and entered. When he closed the door, she turned and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she whispered. “I was so frightened…”

  “There, there,” he patted her back, somewhat embarrassed at her display. “Let me wake my wife, we can get some food for you.”

  She laughed. “In a moment,” she said. “I’ll eat you first, and then get to your wife.”

  “What?” he exclaimed, startled by her change in tone.

  She clamped her hand over his mouth and bit into his neck. After the first mom
ents, he ceased all struggle, until he too lay lifeless at her feet. She went to his bedroom and drained the wife and their two children.

  A baby cried in a crib. She stared down at it. She wouldn’t turn such a thing, and if she left the baby there, her parents would turn her the following night. She reached down and snapped its neck in an act of dark mercy.

  Sidhna continued from house to house until she had worked her way through most of the town. It was near dawn, and she started to think of finding the corner of a hidden cellar.

  Suddenly, the same thunderclap went off in her mind. The border was somehow restored, and the serpents in her blood hissed with the warning that she once more stood on foreign soil.

  “No!” she snarled. How was this possible? She dropped back into mist form and took to the sky, flowing south as fast as she could will herself to fly.

  She made it across the border as the first rays of the sun warmed the sky to lavender, and then flowed into the tunnels of a hill-spider before the sun touched the land. She changed out of the misty form into her elven body and instantly fell asleep underground.

  She awoke the next evening after the sun’s rays left the land. Groggy at first, she rose and pushed herself to her feet. Awareness returned. Thick strands of spiderweb pulled at her, stretching from where she had lain.

  A great spider, twice the size of a horse, curiously regarded her. Its eyes fixated on the little elf before it, but it made no move towards her. She was a dead thing. The blood in her veins did not appeal to the predator. Its body was covered in hairy fur, and its legs curled in close to its massive abdomen.

  She gave a slight bow towards the creature, and then dissolved back into the mist. The webbing dropped through her body to the floor as she flowed out of the cave and into the sky.

  She tested the border again. It had returned, as strong as before, yet different somehow. She couldn’t explain it.

  Damn it! She was no closer to breaking the bonds of her borders. If Markus could do it, so should she be able to.

  It is the curse of Athra, the serpent voices hissed within her. Malahkma’s voice. Sovereignty is her power. Civilization is the rejection of desire. She and I are always at war.

  The voice set off tremblings of pleasure inside her so intense that she lost her mist form and fell to the ground. She landed with a thud, breaking the bones in all four limbs. She lay still for a moment before the blood pulled bones back together and healed her wounds.

  She lifted her head and saw in the trees before her the warm orange glow of campfire light. She walked towards it. Who would be out here in the woods north of Kaldisar, away from any main road? The wilds were probably safer, but for some reason, the survivors always felt compelled to stay closer to the roads. Vampires tended to follow the roads, too, for that’s where their prey gathered. She reminded herself that the wilds held dangers before vampires walked the earth. Like giant forest spiders.

  As she drew close, she heard music. This was foolishness in the infected lands! Whoever they were, they would soon realize their folly. After the blood spent in knitting her bones together from the fall, she was thirsty again.

  Brightly colored gypsy wagons circled the clearing. In the middle, men and women gathered around a campfire. Two human men played violins for a seelie woman who danced.

  Sidhna steeled herself for the bloodlust frenzy to take her upon seeing the light elves in their number, but it never came.

  A frail older woman with wispy gray hair sat at the edge of the campfire. Her face was deeply webbed with wrinkles, and her eyesight looked dim with the haze of age. Three other women sat beside her, attending to her needs.

  The seelie who danced for them wore an open, flowing skirt and a blouse cut and tied to cover only her breasts, exposing her midriff. Her waist was exposed to the open air, and she held tiny brass symbols in her fingers, clacking them in time with the men’s fiddle work.

  Sidhna stood in the shadows, entranced. Why didn’t her blood lust respond to any of these people? Something in the air smelled off about them.

  The seelie dancer was unlike any seelie Sidhna had seen before. Instead of the usual dark markings over a field of lighter skin, her entire body was vibrant green. Spiderweb-thin lines of light blue radiated over her, as if they were all that remained of her natural skin color. Whatever patterns she had been born with in lightfall had grown to cover her body. Her long silver hair fell unbound to her waist, flowing with her movements to the music and the dance of the flames beside her. When she turned, she briefly made eye contact with Sidhna. There was no seelie glow in her eyes. Her irises were a light pale green with no luminescence, and the whites shown starkly against the solid, strong green of her eyelids and face. Her eyebrows were as silver as her hair. She looked altogether unnatural.

  The brief moment of eye contact passed, and the seelie kept dancing as if she had never seen Sidhna standing in the shadows. Sidhna was certain she had been noticed. Did they not care their lives were in danger?

  Yet, the idea of feeding on them filled her with revulsion. What was this?

  The music crescendoed, and the seelie whirled and spun, falling to the ground at the song’s climax. She lay on her back, knees bent so her feet rested behind her bottom. Her stomach arched up, and she looked at Sidhna, demanding eye contact once more. The sweat over her green belly sparkled with a gossamer sheen from the firelight.

  “Vampire Queen!” the old crone at the far side of the circle called out. “Come into the light! There is no evil towards you here, as long as you bring none with you.”

  Sidhna smirked to herself. She could not leave evil behind.

  “You were not always as you are now,” the crone called again. “Come into the light.”

  She noticed the other gypsies. Most were human, of olive complexion, and no more than a dozen bright and dark seelie, all overrun with solid color like the dancer, sat among their number.

  The dancer sprang to her feet and bounded over to the vampire, skipping lightly. No trace of fear could be smelled upon her, just musky otherworldliness. She took Sidhna’s hands.

  “Come, lost Vessel of Graelyn.”

  Sidhna snatched her hand back. “How do you know that?”

  “There are many things we know,” the lithe girl said. “Sit with us.”

  Sidhna allowed herself to be led to the crone. One of the attendant maidens moved, giving her a seat on the floor beside the old woman. The music started once more and the dance continued.

  “So beautiful they are,” the crone said. “Such life. You and I know how fleeting it is. Perhaps you even more than I.”

  Sidhna looked up at the woman. “I can offer you eternal life,” she said.

  The woman laughed. “Oh my! I’m well past wanting that, my dear.”

  “Who are you?” the vampire asked.

  “Most call us gypsies,” the woman said. “We are wanderers. Friends of the faerie folk. We have traveled the lands for thousands of years, living in the gaps between societies. You say we have no home, but the whole world is our home.”

  “Why invite me into your circle? Don’t you fear the infected dead?”

  “No,” the woman said. “I would not have let you in otherwise. The dead don’t want our blood. They leave us alone.”

  “Why?”

  The woman grinned.

  “Why?” Sidhna pressed. “I must know.”

  The crone held out her wrist. “Here. Taste my blood. You will see.”

  The dancing and music continued. No one paid a mind to their conversation.

  Sidhna took the wrist without a moment’s thought and bit into it. The blood rushed into her mouth and down her throat, burning like fire. She pushed the woman away and staggered back from the circle. “Poison!” she hissed. Then she fell to her knees and vomited, spilling blood over the earth.

  No one moved to help her, and no one stopped what they were doing. The music pounded in her head, and the violins screeched at her ears. She crawled back to the circ
le, dizzy. “Poison…” she murmured again.

  “For you,” the crone chuckled. “We have drunk the tea of Faerie’s Breath for generations.”

  “The orange mountain flower?” Sidhna asked. “That’s the source of Malahkma’s Milk!” She referred to the highly addictive opiate derived from the sticky white fluid that seeped from pregnant Faerie’s Breath flower pods.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “It has its uses, but we are not so foolish with it as the city folk are. The flower’s leaves make an excellent tea. Relaxing and gentle. But for some reason, vampires don’t like our blood because of it.”

  “You are outside civilization,” Sidhna repeated what she heard earlier. “You drink tea from the source of Malahkma’s Milk, her essence made manifest. You are marked with her favor so we know you have her protection.”

  “We honor the Red Dragon,” the crone confirmed. “But we worship no god. Our ways are older still, bound to the faerie folk.”

  “I rule these lands, not Malahkma,” Sidhna said. “I don’t need to feed on you to have you hunted and killed.”

  The crone’s eyes flashed dangerously. “We are not without power,” she said. “We are not without magic.”

  Sidhna understood. “You are a witch.” She commanded the same power as wizards, able to cast arcane spells, but not through her own knowledge of ritual. She had a familiar spirit who performed the rites for her, charging her aura with the latent power of each spell.

  The crone nodded. “You would do well to remember that.”

  Sidhna felt her blood returning to normal. “Malahkma lives inside me,” Sidhna said. “You could not possibly win.”

  The crone’s lips were tight but she nodded. “It is true,” she stated. “We could hurt you, but you would be the end of us. What do you propose?”