When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “A bargain,” she said. “An agreement.” Malahkma must have brought her to discover these people for a reason.

  “What is your bargain?”

  “I offer you my protection. Free passage through my lands and my cities. In exchange, when I have need of you, you will offer me yours.”

  “Why would you need mine?”

  “Because I cannot cross sovereign borders without my own home soil. Your people see no borders. I want you to carry caskets filled with the earth of Roenti, so when I call upon you, you will take me over the borders, provide me a home in strange lands, and offer me protection during daylight.”

  The crone laughed. “As you wish. We will make such a deal with you.”

  “You would do such a thing without seeking my approval?” a man’s voice said.

  Sidhna turned to see the newcomer. She stood and instantly darted back five paces.

  The voice belonged to a seelie man. He was like neither the seelie gypsies nor the other seelie of the world. His skin was the darkest gray, almost the deep black of midnight. His irises were red, their whites standing out in deep contrast. Unlike the dancing elf, his eyes did glow with luminescent striations of warm yellows webbed throughout the red irises. His hair was snowy white, a thick mane that fell to his shoulders, broken only by the long black ears that swept back two feet from his head. His face was clean-shaven, unlike most seelie men. At his arrival, every other elf present prostrated themselves on the ground. Even the dancer stopped her dance, lying with her face in the dirt, arms lain out straight over the earth.

  “That is not in our bargain, Athaym,” the crone said. “We are friends to the Fae, not subject to their rule. Your punishments are not for us.”

  “For now,” he said.

  “Punishments?” Sidhna asked.

  “The Fae displeased me,” he said, “and my seelie brothers and sisters have the misfortune of being their only remaining vessels. It pleases me to remind them of their place.”

  There was something strange about this man. She smelled his blood. He had no scent of Faerie’s Breath tea. Her fangs extended involuntarily. She wanted to consume his blood, but something in his eyes held her back. She stood frozen between the urge to feed and a terror-born instinct to flee.

  He walked up to her and stared into her eyes.

  “I know you,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “Graelyn’s bitch! Yes, I know all your dreams, from when you were but a mewling babe.”

  Terror won over. She turned to flee with preternatural speed but he was faster. He grabbed her wrist and held her firm. She tried to dissolve into mist, but something about his grip kept her fastened into elven form.

  “You never expected this to be the cost to saying yes to her, did you?” he asked.

  She shrank away from him, even as he held her arm. She couldn’t look away from his yellow-tinged red eyes. “To whom?” she whimpered.

  “To Graelyn. You said yes to her first. You only resisted later, a little girl’s temper tantrum over not getting the boyfriend you wanted.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Then: “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Why do I simper so? It was as if her body and mind detached themselves from her will in fear. She was stronger than this!

  “You thought you could escape the Dragon by making a deal with the goddess,” he stated calmly.

  The serpents hissed within her as comprehension dawned. Noooo! Do not let him do this! He is the Dragon! The Dragon will reclaim you!

  She knew that seelie were both the remnants of Fae spirits and fragments of the Green Dragon. He must have been the Green Dragon’s evil impulses, the savage dragon instincts of aggression, pulling in the worst of the Fae. She realized what had happened to the others in the camp, why their eyes grew dim and their skin was overrun by the faerie markings. They were seelie whose personalities were overshadowed, possessed by the Fae remnants within them. They were mad, and the seelie they once had been were no more. Abominations.

  But not him. He was the Dragon. He had no faerie markings on him. He must have conquered and consumed all those inside him.

  “No,” she whimpered. Blood tears welled and trickled over her cheeks. “I’ll do anything, anything, please let me go.”

  He laughed a deep, clear laugh. “You should have put your faith in us Dragons,” he said. “Turning to a god is insulting. They are only lies.”

  She thrashed and struggled.

  The serpents hissed. No! We are the goddess! We are Malahkma! We are eternal!

  He grabbed her head and pressed her lips to his neck. She couldn’t help herself. Her body demanded blood. Her desire was too great—even the goddess within her could not resist her own lust. Her fangs punctured his skin, and his hot blood filled her mouth, spilling messily over her lips and down both their necks.

  “Drink of my blood,” he said, “and know that I am your lord.”

  She couldn’t stop herself. The blood tasted so good. It filled every fiber of her body with sexual pleasure. Her toes and fingers curled, and she writhed and gasped as she drank. She felt the Dragon inside him fill her veins, overshadowing and consuming the serpents.

  Then she saw him. Through his blood she saw his spirit, the Dragon at the core of his being. It was a side of Graelyn she had never known as an avatar, a side of her that had lain dormant in dragonsleep. This spark of the Dragon far overshadowed anything she had sensed in the seelie druid at the top of Taer Iriliandrel.

  She pulled away from his neck, and then fell to the ground, prostrating herself as the other seelie in the camp had.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” she pleaded. “I will never say no to you again.”

  “Rise,” he said. He lifted her to her feet. Now she only felt love when she looked into his eyes. Malahkma still lived within her, but now she was his.

  “Hammerfold will fall in time,” he told her. “But for the present, I would have you remain in Artalon. Now, tell me of Taer Iriliandrel. I want to know every detail.”

  29 - The Bathhouses of Surafel

  “It’s complex and intricate work,” Kaldor said. He and Anuit stood together over the carpet on the morning after their return to Surafel. They had cleared away all the furniture to give them room to work and turned the rug upside down. “It will take weeks but it will save us time in the end. And since you have the talent for it, it will be good to use some magical power that doesn’t rely on sorcery.”

  “What element does it use?”

  “A mixture. Mostly Time.”

  He handed her needles and thread. “We’re going to weave in between the knotwork. Watch the pattern I make.”

  Anuit followed his example. Once she saw it, she instinctively understood what he was going for. “That will take forever,” she complained.

  “Trust me,” he said. “It will save time. You start at the other corner and we’ll work towards the center.”

  And so she followed his lead and spent the days working with him with needle and silver thread, weaving in magical patterns and pressing her own magical life force into the weave. The construct sat in Kaldor’s bedroom, undisturbed, and Arda and Oriand occupied themselves with reading or haggling in the marketplace. Hours and days passed, and the work grew to tedium. Her mind detached and wandered from the toil, and she heard the whispering voices of Belham and Bryona in peripheries of her consciousness.

  She had lived nine years with demons as her closest companions. Only after joining up with Arda had their presences become less frequent and further between. She now realized she had not once summoned either of her remaining demons to her since leaving Erind Isle, other than to forbid them from communicating with others. She found that she missed their physical company. She missed their open banter.

  We miss you. Bryona’s voice.

  We’re concerned. Belham’s voice. Khiighun’s essence flows unbalanced throughout your being. You need our help. You need our training.

  I do not wish to see you become a demon like us, Bryona said. I
want to see you made whole. I want to see you find a man, marry, and have a family. You should have children. You should want children.

  Anuit shuddered, and then continued her magical embroidery.

  You indulged my desire, Anuit thought back at Bryona. You tried to win me with sexual pleasure, and now you try something else.

  That was many years ago, Bryona replied. I wanted only to comfort you then. I never tried such a thing after I saw you what turmoil that brought you…

  Her words were true.

  …and I advised you to stop having me seduce the lord of Rille; I advised virtue…

  Also true.

  …and now I see you contemplating the same thing with the paladin that brought you so much guilt and heartache when you let me between your legs—

  Anuit thought back, You are demons. You care nothing for virtue.

  We cannot help who we are. Belham’s voice. You are unlike any sorceress in history. You are good. Your light inspires us.

  You learned from the construct, Bryona continued, that we are projections of yourself in the Kairantheum. We are you. We want you to be whole, for it means we are whole. We too have learned from your revelation that our memories are false, that the city of Dis is a lie. We must protect and serve you, for you are us. I want you to be happy because I love you.

  Anuit pricked her finger with her needle. “Gods damn!” she muttered, sucking the puncture.

  “Are you okay?” Kaldor asked from across the rug, bent over his own work.

  “Yes, just a little slip,” she answered.

  “Why don’t you take a break,” he said. “I think I will too. I need to rest my eyes.”

  “This is why it takes so long, isn’t it?” Anuit laughed. “The damned eyestrain.”

  “That and the fingers cramping,” Kaldor joined her laughter. He stood and walked over to her, offering her his hand to help her up.

  She rose to her feet. “Thank you.”

  Anuit went to the front room where Arda sat reading a book. They had moved the sofa into this room. The store itself remained closed so they wouldn’t be bothered. Anuit sat down beside her. “It doesn’t look like much, but it’s hard work,” Anuit said.

  Arda put her book down. “I would help if I could, but…”

  “I know. Where’s Oriand gone?”

  “To get fresh water, I think.”

  “Water would be nice.”

  Arda was dressed in green robes. She did not wear her paladin’s armor in order to remain discreet. They had already attracted the sultan’s attention once upon arriving. No need to involve him in this when they were trying to lie low and make their escape.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Nothing important,” Arda said. “Some stories about the first Artalon when it was under darkling rule. Kaldor brought the volume from Erindil. Just some tales about the other worlds to which Artalon bridged the stars. I think the Kairantheum spilled over. There was one world that worshipped a god with a thunder hammer. Much like Modhrin. I wonder if the Kairantheum still connects us.”

  Oriand arrived shortly afterwards with a fresh jug of water. She poured a glass for each of them, and they sipped them in silence.

  Finally, Arda stood. “You’re taking a break,” she said. “We’re going out.”

  “Where?” Anuit asked. She stared at the doorway to the other room where Kaldor had resumed work.

  “The bathhouse.”

  “What?” Anuit asked, shocked.

  “We’ve been traveling and living in dust for months now. The bathhouses here are legendary. Come. The three of us are going.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Kaldor said from the doorway. “We could spare a few hours. The water will be good for our joints.”

  “You’re coming… with us?” Oriand’s eyes widened in alarm.

  Kaldor laughed. “No. The men’s bath is not with the women’s. Not even on the same street. I’ll meet you back here before dinner. Oriand, get some coin out of the back for the three of you. You’ll need to pay the entry fee.”

  Oriand shook her head. “I don’t think… they’ll see I’m a troll.”

  “I don’t think it will matter there,” Arda said. “Besides, you’re with us. Come on.”

  The three women arrived at the women’s bathhouse after a lengthy, but not particularly tiring, walk. It was a circular building with a domed bronze top and small glass windows. A circular walkway that lined the building’s columns shaded the outside. The closed front door was shielded by wide-leaved bushes from the streets.

  Arda pushed it open, and an old darkling woman with silver hair, a wrinkled face, and eyes as dark as hers sat inside behind a small table.

  “Two silver apiece,” she said. Oriand laid the coin down. The troll woman was covered in her concealing robes and veils, just as she had been the first time they had met her. Anuit noted that the old woman raised an eyebrow at the dark blue skin of Oriand’s hand.

  “The sitting rooms are behind me,” the woman said. “There are cubbies for your robes, and then proceed through the rooms to the right.”

  It was moderately warm and damp with moisture inside. The walls, ceilings, and floors were all paneled with light wood, and wooden partitions created semi-private alcoves.

  Anuit stared at the small bench and the wooden hooks on the alcove walls. Arda and Oriand stood behind her.

  “I’m not sure what to do,” she said. “Any ideas?”

  “I don’t know,” Arda gave them a silly grin. “I’ve never been to Surafel before. I’ve only heard stories. Oriand?”

  A nude woman walked by their alcove towards the door to the first room. “We follow their example,” Oriand said. She removed her veils, and then her robes, until she stood naked before Anuit and Arda. She placed her robes on the hooks.

  Anuit stared at her naked blue form. “I don’t think I can… I’m not comfortable with…”

  Oriand laughed. “Come,” she said. “It is nothing. Where I am from, women are open with each other all the time.”

  Arda followed Oriand’s example and placed her own clothing on one of the hooks. “Are you coming Anuit, or are you just going to stand there?”

  “I…”

  “Anuit,” Arda grinned, “you command demons and face vampires. Surely you can brave a bathhouse.”

  Anuit blushed. Every time the woman smiled, her world lit up. She reluctantly pulled off her robes and hung them on the hooks, then followed the other two women out of the alcove. She walked behind Arda, and she couldn’t help but stare at the darkling’s naked tail that sprouted from the base of her spine above her bottom. Anuit told herself she was just making sure she didn’t step on it.

  The sorceress felt exposed. She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever stood naked in front of anyone before, but there were three other women in the process of disrobing as well, as nonchalantly as if they were walking in the market. No one spoke.

  The first room was square and tiled blue from floor to ceiling. A thick curtain of water divided it down the center. Two women in front of them stepped through the water, pausing for a moment before continuing.

  “Like the waterfall from my home,” Oriand said. She stepped into it.

  Anuit followed beside her, before Arda. She yelped. The water was freezing!

  Arda followed, and then they all stepped through. Whatever dust they might have brought in with them from the streets was certainly gone now. Anuit looked over at her friends. All three of them had goose flesh on their arms from the cold curtain of water. She shivered. Arda’s hair was plastered to her face. It made her head look small between her horns. She couldn’t help but steal a glance at the paladin’s body. She blushed again when Arda noticed. She was thankful the paladin didn’t say anything.

  Oriand briskly rubbed her arms. “Cold!” she muttered.

  The second room was circular and much larger. There, many women lingered, either sitting on benches or lying immersed in the shallow circular bath
that filled most of the room. The floors and walls were pink granite, made reflective by the little puddles that covered them. Water fell down over the walls and was captured by narrow canals in the floors, feeding the central pool. Warm steam filled the room.

  Arda waded down into the pool, descending the granite steps, hewn just rough enough to keep them from slipping. “Ooooh!” she exclaimed. “That is nice!”

  The bathhouse cleaning ritual seemed a sacred space, for none of the other patrons spoke aloud. When they did, they used hushed whispers. They stared at Arda for her relatively loud exclamation.

  Anuit felt more comfortable now. No one was clothed and none made anything of it. She didn’t feel out of place, especially since her coloring made her look native. She followed Arda into the water. It was warm, almost hot, and her body instantly relaxed. The water was deep enough that she could sit in it up to her neck.

  “I could stay here forever,” she murmured.

  Oriand moved up beside her. The troll woman submerged her head for a moment and then reappeared, wiping droplets away from her eyes. Her dark blue skin looked lovely in the pink granite room, and her red eyes were particularly striking beneath the jet-black hair plastered to her forehead. She ran her fingers through her wet locks, pulling them away from her face.

  “Why do we want to leave this place?” Arda asked. “Windbowl doesn’t have anything like this.”

  “Maybe when all this is done, we can come back,” Anuit said.

  Arda grinned at her.

  Anuit blushed.

  They lingered for a while before the heated water became too much. Arda left the pool first, and Anuit admired her athletic form as she rose up the steps out of the water.

  The next room had no pool. Instead, a number of long tables with robed attendants standing beside them sat between canals of water. Other women lay on the tables, and the attendants vigorously scrubbed them with sponges.

  This might be unpleasant, she thought. Those scrubs looked neither relaxing nor gentle.

  She lay on an open table where the attendant was an orc woman. Anuit rested the side of her face on her forearms. Arda lay on the table next to her, and they looked into each others eyes as the attendants got to work.