When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  The next thing Anuit knew, she was covered in soapsuds. The attendant lathered her with an infused rag, and then proceeded to take the rough sponge and scrub away every layer of dirt, and a few layers of skin as well. She wondered if Arda’s attendant, a human, scrubbed so hard.

  “Turn,” the orc indicated.

  Anuit shifted and lay on her back, and the orc repeated the process on her front, lathering and scrubbing. She did the same with her arms and legs, and then went to work with smaller wash clothes on fingers, toes, and ears. Anuit had a hard time not squirming and pulling away from the scrubbing of the bottoms of her feet.

  Finally, the orc drew water from the canals, warm like in the previous room, and rinsed Anuit until all soap and exfoliated skin washed away.

  The orc moved to another table, leaving them. Some women, she could see, remained lying down, enjoying the leisure. Anuit and Arda stayed and watched each other’s eyes for a while before Oriand fidgeted. They stood and moved on.

  The fourth room was square like the first. Its tile was sage colored and had dark green-painted floral patterns. A square pool with steps leading down and back up on the other side split the center of the room. Anuit stepped into the water, and this time it was pleasantly cool. It was deeper than the hot room, and she stood with the water up to her neck in the center. She stayed there for a while, letting her arms float to the side and watching the little waves play with the dim light from the high windows overhead.

  Arda and Oriand stood with her. The three of them formed a triangle facing each other.

  “This was nice,” the sorceress said. “I don’t want to go back to Kaldor’s. I don’t want to go back to Windbowl.”

  “I know,” Arda commiserated, “but we have to.”

  “Oriand, what’s wrong?” Anuit asked.

  The troll was wiping tears from her eyes. “Nothing,” she said. “It is nothing.” She splashed her face. “It’s just… this place, seeing all these women together in a space just for us… it reminds me of home.”

  The fourth and final room had more tables but was without water canals. She lay down again. This time, a dwarven attendant came to her. She dried Anuit with a soft towel, and then spent half an hour massaging tension away from the sorceress’s muscles, rubbing lavender-scented oil into her skin. She did the same with her hair, drying, combing, and applying scented mist. When they were done, all three of the women were dry and perfumed and had their eyelids blackened with eyeshadow. This completed the circular path through the bathhouse, and when they exited, they found themselves back in the dressing room with wooden alcoves.

  They dressed themselves once more, leaving the bathhouse behind and headed back to Kaldor’s house.

  “Oriand, we’ll meet you inside,” Arda said when they got to the front door. “There’s something I need to say to Anuit.”

  The troll woman nodded and left them alone.

  “Come with me.” Arda took Anuit’s hand and led her around to the alleyway on the side of the house.

  “What is it?” Anuit asked.

  Arda pushed Anuit against the wall and placed her hands over her shoulders. “I don’t get you,” the paladin said.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “One minute you’re interested and the next you’re distant. I saw you looking at me.”

  Anuit felt sick. “No,” she protested. “I wasn’t—”

  “Are you scared?” Arda asked. “I’ve tried to let you know I’m interested, but every time I think you might be responding, the next minute you pull away. Are you playing a game?”

  “I know you’re interested,” Anuit finally answered. “I’m scared.”

  Arda leaned close. “Don’t be,” she whispered. She kissed Anuit’s lips, and the sorceress’s heart raced.

  Anuit pushed her away. “No!” she protested. “I can’t! I want to, but I can’t. I’m not ready.”

  Arda stepped away, arms folded over her chest.

  “I do,” Anuit insisted. “I want you, I know I do, but I’m not ready. I’m scared to be with you because I’m frightened by how much I want you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Arda said.

  Anuit took the paladin’s hands. “No one has ever touched me before,” she said. “Everything I know tells me it’s wrong for me to want to be touched by you, and I know my heart doesn’t care. I’ve lived with demons all my life, and I’m at war with myself right now. My self-control is delicate, and I can’t afford to doubt myself while controlling demons. You saw what happened to me in Valkrage’s Vault. I’m afraid I’m losing control, and I don’t want to hurt you if I do. I must work this out first. Can you give me some time?”

  Arda squeezed her hands. “Yes, Anuit,” she smiled, even though disappointment still rang in her voice. “I can give you time.”

  Anuit continued her work on the rug with Kaldor until they finished at the end of February. Finally, he declared it ready. They rolled it up, took it outside, and then unrolled it on the street. People looked at them strangely as they passed by.

  The four of them brought their packs to the middle of the rug, and Arda and Oriand sat.

  Kaldor locked the door to his home and joined them. Anuit stood in the middle with him.

  “My dear,” he said. “Would you do the honors?”

  Anuit did as he had taught her. She planted her feet firmly in the center medallion of the rug’s pattern and closed her eyes. She felt its cushion beneath her feet, and then she became aware of the underlying magical pattern hidden in the knots beneath its piles.

  The carpet gently rose, levitating a few inches off the ground.

  “Well done!” Kaldor exclaimed. “Now, take us high.”

  Anuit focused on the desire to ascend, and then the carpet shot up into the air, high over the city. It hovered in place once more while she marveled at the jewel of a city that sprawled beneath her. “It’s beautiful!” she breathed.

  The carpet was surprisingly stable. It did not rock to or fro, and she felt no tremblings that would startle her balance.

  “North!” Kaldor said. “Across the ocean as fast as you can take us!”

  Anuit concentrated again, and the carpet sailed north. Soon the city receded into the horizon behind them.

  The magical weave Kaldor taught her must have been sophisticated, for not only did the carpet move swiftly and easily under her command, but the magic also accounted for practical considerations. Even though they flew almost a hundred miles per hour, they were neither buffeted by wind nor assaulted by the chill of the high air. When the carpet shot forward, she wasn’t thrown off her feet. Once they were on the trajectory of Kaldor’s liking, she sat with her friends. The carpet would continue moving until it was commanded otherwise.

  Anuit bit her lip in trepidation. This would be the first time back to Windbowl since Seredith became a revenant and Duke Montevin had called for the hunt that killed or chased out every sorcerer within his borders.

  “Now,” Kaldor said. “Let’s get settled.” He opened his small pack and took out four large mugs, followed by a corked jug.

  “How did you fit that in there?” Oriand exclaimed.

  Kaldor winked at Anuit. “Magic,” he grinned. “I’ll teach you how to make these, too.”

  He uncorked the jug, and then waved his wand over its mouth. Within seconds, steam rose, carrying the aroma of coffee. He filled their mugs and re-corked the jug. He sat back with a self-satisfied smile. “It’s your turn for stories. Tell me everything you know of vampires, seelie, and this Church of Light. From the beginning.”

  30 - The New Normal

  Aradma attended Hylda’s memorial. There were no other paladins in the city to perform the service. Both Rajamin and the newly crowned Queen Aiella offered to lead the ceremony, but it was Attaris who presided. He had been a runewarden and priest before Rajamin’s restoration of the Church. He didn’t belong to Rajamin, nor did his authority spring from Windbowl. Hylda was a paladin, but she was a dwarf first. S
he was faithful to dwarven traditions and their gods. She had believed in Modhrin, and had become a paladin to honor him.

  Attaris never said an angry word or cast an angry look towards Aradma. He didn’t need to. She knew it was her fault. Hylda died because Aradma had hesitated. Attaris had never seen his wife alive again. They had met her on the road already risen as a vampire. With Odoune’s and Keira’s help, Attaris had to put her to final rest. Odoune told Aradma later that Attaris showed no hesitation, no emotion, until after he ended the thing she had become.

  Attaris practiced the Old Religion, but his rites were not like Rajamin’s. He built a raft and a funeral pyre. After nightfall, he placed burning sconces at the raft’s corners and laid Hylda’s body on the pyre. She had been beheaded to prevent her from rising again, and her body had been hidden from sunlight so as to not fall to ashes before the fire took her. Aradma gasped and placed her fingers over her mouth when Attaris removed his wife’s head from a leather sack and rested it atop her body. He covered her body and head with a thick blue shroud. Beneath the shroud, she looked whole.

  Attaris placed his drinking horn atop her breast and stepped off the raft, pushing it out over the waters of Crystalmere Lake. He sang a lament in dwarven that Aradma couldn’t understand. When he was done chanting, he called out in a strong voice for all to hear.

  “Line of our mothers, watch over her, and grant her passage to Modhrin’s halls.” He kissed his right hammer.

  “Line of our fathers, watch over her, and grant her passage to Modhrin’s halls.” He kissed his left hammer.

  Queen Aiella came forward and said something Aradma didn’t remember afterwards. Something about service and being an integral part of the city.

  Others came forward as well, saying their words of grief, their words to honor her.

  Aradma maintained her composure by maintaining her silence, keeping her eyes fixed until the raft’s fire spread to take Hylda to the halls of her ancestors.

  As Aradma predicted, dissolving Hammerfold into twenty-eight coalition city-states slowed the spread of the contagion. None of the hungerbound ventured across borders of their own accord, so the Covenant’s movement reduced to a crawl. Only those towns that had already fallen to the contagion voluntarily surrendered to the Covenant’s protection, for it seemed the forces of Hammerfold were unable to cleanse an already infected region. Many seelie rangers died, and the human troops were invariably turned. There were few settlements in the depths of Oakheart Forest or Tranquil Woods, so the advance of hungerbound reached the borders of the woods and then stopped. An occasional group of vampires was seen deeper in the lands, but not in sufficient numbers to create another explosive outbreak.

  More disconcerting, on the night that the sovereign states had been established, a township in the south was found to be mysteriously infected en-masse. Its entire population had risen as vampires the next night, and the contagion was impossible to contain. Like a cancerous cell, the new city-state was lost in a fortnight.

  Every once in a while, a strong-willed vampire crossed a sovereign border long enough to infect someone. It became commonplace for small packs of undead to spring up occasionally, even in the deepest parts of the Northern Alliance of Hammerfold. Brave sentinels put down the roving bands as soon as they were discovered, and up to the present, a mass outbreak in the northern states had been prevented. Only Windbowl remained largely untouched.

  * * *

  Fernwalker and Ghost walked in the garden under the moonlight. Aradma and Suleima had returned to their home in the hills. Fernwalker knew her mom was unhappy with her new role in the Church, and she seemed to want nothing more than to get away from the city after dissolving the kingdom. But even more than that, her mother withdrew because she grieved for Hylda and couldn’t face Attaris.

  It was strange to Fernwalker. As much as she knew her mother disliked the Church, Suleima always remained her friend. The troll runewarden treated Aradma as a sister and Fernwalker as a niece. She considered them part of her house, her duty to them even more important than her duties as a priestess. Odoune spent a lot of time at their home, too. Fernwalker liked having her dad around. Suleima also seemed to like having him around.

  Ghost never left Fernwalker’s side, especially when she was outside. Her mom kept busy by flying the night skies with Odoune, searching for any incursions. They and the other druids kept Windbowl safe, and no vampire had been seen within the valley duchy.

  Fernwalker knew better than to go far. She stayed right outside, within the confines of the stone wall that circled the garden yard. Attaris had told her once this was where he had first seen Aradma summon the powers of greenery, causing the garden to bloom in the middle of winter. He said that was when he knew her mother was someone extra special.

  Suleima cooked inside, watching Fernwalker through the window as the child played at summoning flowers. Odoune had started to teach her some things… boring things, like letters named after trees. Meditations and lessons. She wanted to make more flowers than just tiny clovers. She wanted to make bushes and trees and weave foliage into gowns like her mom did. She spent much of her time trying to do so, but she hadn’t figured it out yet. It was frustrating. Her mother said she had strengthened her link to Life! She should be able to channel more now, but she didn’t feel any different. Odoune told her not to worry and to keep up her meditations and studies.

  “Okay,” she said. She took Ghost’s cheeks in her hands. Her sage-green skin always looked lovely, she thought, against his orange fur. “I’m going to do it for real this time.”

  Ghost regarded her silently. He licked her face with a rough tongue that scratched painfully at her chin and nose.

  “No, don’t distract me. For real this time.”

  She focused. She went inside the way Odoune told her to.

  Clovers and grass were easy. She wanted more than tiny flowers. She wanted broad ferns and expanses of blooming petals.

  Nothing.

  She placed her hands on the ground. “Grow!” she commanded. She closed her eyes and concentrated again, trying to pull up life from the ground.

  Nothing beyond a clover patch.

  Ghost nudged her with his nose.

  She looked up into the tiger’s eyes. He stared at her, unblinking.

  She stared at him, unblinking.

  Who would blink first?

  It wasn’t the tiger.

  It wasn’t her.

  Suddenly, she felt it. A surge of Life sparked within her, and the link in her soul bloomed.

  The problem, you see, Ghost was saying—how did she know it was Ghost?—is that you are focused on what you want Life to bring you. Life doesn’t work that way.

  Fernwalker fell over backwards.

  “Ghost?” she said, aloud.

  Ah. You hear me. Finally. You have no idea how frustrating it is to never be understood.

  “You can understand me?”

  Have you ever doubted it?

  She thought for a moment. “I suppose not.”

  Your link is awakened. It is different for each person. Your problem is that you have told Life you want flowers. Why don’t you let Life decide what it wants to grow through you?

  “But Mom has control of what she wants!”

  Does she? Your mother lives according to her nature.

  “Oh!” Fernwalker’s eyes grew wide. “I am not my mother.”

  Indeed, you are not, young cub.

  Fernwalker focused again. She found the link easily this time, going towards where the sound of Ghost’s words emanated within her thoughts. She felt herself floating before the link. She saw the green life that pulsed within it. She reached out and touched it gently, offering herself to let it move through her.

  See? Open your eyes.

  She did as the tiger asked. Instead of flowers and greenery, tiny gossamer stars and wisps floated and sparked around her. Little beams of moonlight danced in her presence, filling the garden’s expanse.

 
It faded, and she couldn’t find the link again.

  It will take practice. She could still hear Ghost’s voice. Try again tomorrow. You don’t have the strength yet to stay connected. That will take time.

  She grinned. “I’m a druid!” she said. “I’m a druid!”

  Suddenly, Ghost sprang to his feet and crouched low. His hackles rose and he growled.

  Fernwalker stepped back. “What is it?”

  The mists!

  She had not been paying attention, focused solely on the dancing lights she had made. Mists carpeted the garden floor and rose around her.

  Get inside!

  She ran towards the door, but it was too late. The mists solidified into five vampires. They blocked her escape to the safety of her home.

  Their eyes glowed red, and their mouths stretched horribly wide, fangs extended in the moonlight. “Green blood…” they hissed.

  Ghost snarled, and then a white leopard landed in their midst, roaring. She knocked one of them from his feet, and then jumped again to land in front of her daughter. She growled at the vampires.

  They rushed forward, screaming in ecstatic anticipation of seelie life.

  The entire garden burst with thick brambles, locking the vampires in their place. They thrashed forward, breaking through the wood.

  The leopard landed on the back of one of the undead, knocking him to the ground. She roared at him, and a thick tree root shot up, impaling him through the heart. He lay there paralyzed.

  The rest of them faded into mist and flowed through the brambles.

  The leopard returned to Fernwalker and transformed herself into Aradma. “Grab onto me!” she shouted.

  Fernwalker threw her arms around her mother’s neck as the mists drew close. Aradma stamped the ground, and a pillared platform of vines erupted, tossing them high over the house. Aradma held her daughter close as she tumbled through the air.

  The seelie druid summoned a thick pad of springy moss on the other side of the house. They bounced from it and landed harmlessly on the ground.