When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “Is she okay?” Suleima asked. She gazed around, unfocused. Odoune had a similarly unfocused stare as he faced their conversation. The two trolls couldn’t see in the pitch dark of the chasm.

  “Right, sorry,” Anuit said. “You can make light now.” She grinned at Arda. “The carpet wasn’t fast enough. I had to shadowjump us down here to catch you.”

  Suleima whispered a prayer, and her necklace radiated a soft red glow, just enough for them to see by. Arda blinked, losing her darkvision and readjusting her eyes to the light.

  “Lass!” Attaris exclaimed, kneeling beside her. “How many did you kill?”

  She shrugged. “Fifty. Maybe sixty.”

  “It’s a miracle you’re alive!” he gasped. “Even for you!”

  She shrugged again. She released her connection to the Light, knowing she couldn’t keep it flowing indefinitely. She could burn out her connection if she channeled too much. Her link wasn’t nearly as strong as Anuit’s to the Dark or Aradma’s to Life.

  Pain flooded her awareness. Her joints and muscles ached. “I think I pulled my thigh,” she said. Then she hissed from the pain of moving her lips. The claw marks across her face stung.

  “Here,” Attaris said. “Stay still.” He pulled out a runestone and whispered a prayer to Modhrin. The rune responded with a soft light, and she felt her skin close over, healing itself. Attaris knew her healing skills with the Light were limited compared to what Hylda’s had been, and she didn’t want to risk overtaxing her channeling. Heightening reflexes was one thing, but knitting flesh together was something else. She wished she had been born with a stronger link and wondered if Archurion’s seal would strengthen it over time. Kaldor had said it might.

  Some of her strength came back from Attaris’ healing magic, but her thigh still ached. She touched her face. The wounds left scars in five parallel lines diagonally from the left side of her forehead down past the right cheek. It was a miracle she still had her eyes.

  “Aradma’s still down here, somewhere,” she said.

  “Yes, that is why we are here,” Suleima replied.

  They floated a hundred feet from the bottom of the fissure. Fresh rocks had fallen from the worm’s passing, and the winding trail she had seen from above was now broken and intermittent. She could still make out its overall shape, deducing its path.

  “There,” Arda pointed.

  Anuit guided the floating rug over to a wide stretch of the ledge path. Wagon splinters and recently dead foliage that only grew on Ahmbren’s surface—ferns and vines—lay about.

  “They were here!” Odoune exclaimed. “Aradma’s alive! This proves it!”

  “She fought back,” Suleima confirmed. “She destroyed the wagon, but then…”

  Attaris stepped off the carpet and onto the stone ground. “The tracks continue down the path.”

  Odoune studied the markings on the dirt. “She was made to crawl.” His voice trembled in quiet rage. “What are they doing to her?”

  “The Black Dragon has her,” Anuit muttered. “There’s no telling.”

  They returned to the carpet and followed beside the broken trail to the bottom until the path left the open chasm and burrowed deeper into Ahmbren’s stony mantle.

  “Hang on, Aradma,” Arda said. “We’re coming for you.”

  Arda limped beside her companions as they slowly walked into a narrow fissure. She wished they could kill all the light. She could see farther in the dark without it, but Odoune and Suleima needed at least the soft glow of their runes. She could tell the light made Attaris antsy too. They had spent many miles traveling together beneath the earth in their earlier years, searching for buried secrets from before the Empire. Back then, their third companion, Danry the bard, rarely accompanied them below for the light he would have required. The sudden thought of the dead bard evoked a twinge of sadness. Would the world never see peace? Hadn’t they paid enough?

  Anuit walked beside her. The magic carpet had been rolled and folded into a small square, which fit neatly in her backpack. There was no way that rug could have collapsed to that small a size unless Kaldor had woven even more magic into it beyond just flight.

  The fissure opened into another subterranean valley. Its floor was carpeted with luminescent blue mushrooms. Odoune gasped in awe.

  “Even here, Rin touches,” Suleima whispered.

  “Look,” Arda pointed. “A stream.”

  A narrow flow of water, only inches deep, trickled over the rocks amid the mushrooms, leading farther into the earth.

  “We’re very far down, lass,” Attaris commented. She looked down at him. He returned her glance with a strange expression. The trail was still good. He of all people should know that.

  “What are you saying?” she asked.

  “Nothing, yet,” he whispered back. “You know there are depths that even dwarves won’t hazard to go.”

  Arda frowned. “Yes, but Aradma’s counting on us.”

  “If she’s alive,” Anuit murmured, almost absently. Arda twitched and glanced at her lover, but Anuit wasn’t really focused on the conversation. She stared out over the sea of glowing blue.

  “She won’t be if we stay here,” Arda snapped. She limped forward, even more irritated that the ache in her thigh wasn’t from an enemy’s weapon, but from the strain of an aging body.

  Damn it, I’m not that old. Not even forty yet. But the body of a woman in her thirties was not as elastic as it had been when she was eighteen. She had grown soft living with Anuit and had neglected her physical conditioning this summer. Now she was paying for it.

  As they rounded the bend, another opening of glowing fungus awaited them, but amid the blue there were strands of violet and burgundy hues. Veins of gold and minerals stretched in fingers across the walls and ceiling, glittering in the fungal luminescence as they walked, and a ginseng-like fragrance, earthy and cloying, greeted their noses.

  “This reminds me of Farstkeld,” Arda remarked in a hushed voice.

  “Parts of it,” Attaris agreed. Suddenly the dwarf hissed a loud whisper. “Careful!” he told the others. “Cave frogs.”

  Arda looked down at the floor. A black frog with green spots jumped out of the way, escaping into the shallow stream.

  “They won’t hurt you,” Attaris said. “But they’re poisonous to the touch. Your boots will protect you, but don’t go touching the ground or walls unless you check first.”

  As they walked, the frogs started chirping, warning each other of the companions’ approach. By the time they reached the far side, the entire cavern rang with the loud screeching din of the cute but deadly creatures.

  “So much for the quiet approach,” Odoune muttered.

  “There’s nothing we can do but continue,” Arda replied.

  The cavern led to another narrow, round tunnel. It had the markings of having been burrowed by some underground creature. It was too small to be one of the purple worms, but it had similar features.

  She saw clawed footprints again. “They came through here,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. It had been some time since they had seen signs of the caravan’s passing.

  “How is it they left no tracks through the glowing valley?” Odoune asked.

  “Look behind you,” Attaris said to answer him.

  The mushrooms they had trampled had already been replaced by new growth, their tops spreading out to cover their footprints.

  “Earth faeries and cave sprites,” Attaris said. “Faerie spirits originally from the Otherworld who made their way to Ahmbren long before the Otherworld shattered. Since Klrain’s death destroyed their native realm, they have no home to return to anymore.”

  “Why didn’t we see them?” Anuit asked.

  “Because faerie—those that are not the noble Fae—wear tiny forms and prefer to remain hidden from the big folk like us. Sprites and spriggans, goblins and bogarts… all these are creatures from the Otherworld, and they coax forth entire kingdoms of mushrooms in which to live and frol
ic.”

  “Let us continue,” Odoune said. “I fear for Aradma.”

  The tunnel narrowed and descended for another mile before they were forced to walk single file. Attaris went first, followed by Arda, and then the two trolls. Anuit stayed in the rear with her demons, Belham and Bryona, watching their backs.

  Attaris stopped abruptly when they came to a dead end. It looked as if the rocks had recently collapsed. The dwarf frowned. Arda could hear nothing but the steady, thoughtful breathing through his nose. His eyes narrowed. She knew that look.

  “No, Atty,” she told him angrily, before he could say what she knew he was going to say. “No. This is not over.”

  “Lass—”

  “No. There is another way.” She reached out and touched the rock, looking around.

  “No, lass, there isn’t. I feel it in my bones.”

  “Damn your dwarven bones. We’re not leaving her. There has to be another passage.” She closed her eyes to focus on quelling a rising feeling of panic. She had seen no other tunnels, no alternate passages. If the troglodytes had collapsed the path…

  Anuit pushed forward. “Maybe I can get us through this,” she said. Belham hovered beside her. She turned to the imp. “How thick is this? Find me a safe place to shadowjump.”

  Belham bowed and disappeared. Five long minutes passed in silence before he returned. “The tunnel is collapsed,” he reported. “It’s filled with stone and rock for a solid mile before it opens again. It looks like a worm has recently passed. After the collapse, there is an opening, but over a dozen passages lead away in all directions.”

  Anuit frowned. “A mile is far to shadowjump,” she said. “I don’t know if I can make it that far. Maybe by myself…” She closed her eyes and focused. “Lights off, please,” she said. Suleima extinguished her glowing runes.

  Arda had seen this before. Anuit was connecting with the darkness around her and feeling its shape with her mind. She would find a way through this rock if one existed. Maybe she could shadowjump them one at a time.

  Aradma, Arda thought to herself, we’re coming for you.

  Anuit’s eyes shot open and she screamed. Arda’s heart jumped and she reached out to catch the sorceress before she collapsed and hit her head on the rock floor.

  Anuit shivered.

  “What?” Arda pressed her, her own voice rising with anxiety. “What did you see?”

  “I saw… him.” Anuit shuddered. “So cold… so cold…”

  Arda froze. There was no need to question whom Anuit meant by “him.”

  “Did he see you?” she asked.

  Anuit shook her head. “I don’t think… I don’t know.” Then: “Yes. He saw… something. He knew I was there.” She clutched Arda’s shoulders. “His mind moves in the dark. We cannot confront him here. It will be the end of all of us.”

  Arda bit her lip and stared at the mocking stone wall blocking their way.

  “She’s right, lass,” Attaris added.

  Odoune growled. “We can’t give up,” he insisted. “There has to be another way.”

  Suleima shook her head. “I—” Her voice choked. “What would we tell Fernwalker?”

  Arda searched her own feelings. She felt waves of… of something… in the Light. Comfort. Reassurance. Forgiveness. Trust.

  …let go…

  Arda shook her head. They’re right. She clenched her eyes closed, pinching out the watering tears. “No,” she protested. But her inner voice understood. Do not throw all your lives away in futility. “No,” she said again. She remembered her failure to live up to her duty in Traversham, when she took the easy way out and slaughtered the town. Now the easy way was to abandon her friend. How could she…?

  But she knew her thinking was wrong. This was not giving up. This was making the tough choice to see the truth for what it was. No amount of Kaldorite idealism would trump the reality that stared her in the face.

  “Love,” Anuit said through chattering teeth. The sorceress was crouched into a ball, trying to warm herself by rubbing her limbs with her hands. “Aradma’s beyond our reach now. We must go to Artalon. We can’t let him get there first.”

  Artalon. Kaldor charged you with this too. Even more important than a friend…

  “Arda,” Attaris added gently, “Aradma will survive this. I feel it in my bones. I felt Modhrin’s presence when she first fell to this world. He led me to find her then. We cannot reach her now, and we must trust in Modhrin, and in the Light. Faith, Arda. The Light’s rays are faith, hope, and love. You know this.”

  Arda looked at him with anguished eyes. Damn your bones.

  The dwarven runewarden took her hands in his. “Archurion sank Artalon to keep its power out of his hands,” he whispered. “Now you bear Archurion’s seal. Come defend the Eternal City. Help make it a city of Light this time. Help us hold the line against the Dark.”

  Oh, Aradma! The thought of abandoning her friend to suffer at Athaym’s hands…

  She fell forward and scratched her claws over the rock. “Fuck!” she cried out, voice torn in anger and frustration. “Fuck you all!”

  She allowed Attaris to lead her away. Odoune carried Anuit, who still trembled such that she was unable to stand. In silence, the five companions turned from their quest to make the slow, shameful ascent back to the surface.

  Artalon. Our salvation lies with Artalon.

  She would not ask Aradma’s forgiveness. She would never forgive herself.

  8 - The Celestial Temple

  Yamosh was true to his word. When Athra arrived in Kriegsholm after walking the entire way, a ship awaited her. The city’s vampire ruler, Jorey, lay in repose during daylight hours. She did not wait to meet him; his wolven son, Arlen, guided her to the ship. Arlen looked upon her with such intent fervor that she could feel his faith rolling off of him and into her.

  Yamosh had gone even further than she expected. Not only did he provide her a ship, but the entire crew burst with the fragrance of zeal, all devoted worshippers of her. She was impressed with how quickly Yamosh had molded his people to fulfill the purpose of his deal. He truly wanted to woo her. She considered… maybe he would make a suitable consort in other lands as well. She left that thought for another time.

  The ship carried her south through Krieg’s Bay and then into the narrow sea corridor between Erindil and Galadheim. They continued and crossed the South Sea without incident, sailing into the bay between Tagla and Oestia until they sighted the secret shores of Nyptherion.

  The city of Nyptherion was ancient, from the First Age. Athra remembered guiding its construction before the Archdragons ever woke from dragonsleep to discover gods had come to the world. It was sectioned into two ring walls. In the center of its inner ring lay a round blue palace with copper minarets—true copper, not the zorium the gnomes later created—surrounded by tightly compressed towers and apartments of painted brick clustered in a highly ordered fashion. The outer ring had smaller structures, buildings congested by each other and made of clay and dingy brown stone. The outer ring bustled with life, and traveling caravans entered and departed along the road stretching from the northern docks to the south, following the line where yellow sands of the western desert met the red sands of the east.

  Before they docked, the ship’s captain came to her. “Sweet lady,” he supplicated, holding out a bundle of clothing. “Might I offer these robes, so that you don’t draw too much attention to yourself?”

  She regarded him curiously for a moment. Gods loved attention, but perhaps he was right. Drinking in adoration was not her purpose here. She took the robes and covered her mechanical form in the traditional Nyptherion garb for the women of the inner circle. The veil completely covered her face, and even her eyes lay hidden behind a thick mesh screen. She could see well enough to move around, but no one could discern any of her features. This would hide even her glowing crystal eyes. Only her hands remained unconcealed. Someone might remark on the smooth metallic digits of her fingers connected by
the joints cased in soft armor-resin, but only if someone looked closely. She didn’t intend to wave her hands about.

  She lay her hand on the captain’s shoulder. “You have served me well,” she said, “and it pleases me that you continue to serve me. Wait here for my return. Allow your crew to rest, but be careful not to enter the inner ring of the city. That would place your crew in danger, and if I lose any of you, I will be displeased with you, Captain.”

  He nodded and bowed, kissing her metallic hands. “As you command, my goddess.”

  Athra departed the ship alone. She needed neither servants nor protection. There was nothing here that could harm her other than people’s revulsion. She didn’t want to cause a fuss, because worship was so much better than hatred. While some gods became drunk on fear, Athra didn’t savor that particular taste. And even though she wasn’t here to gain worshippers, she certainly had no desire to alienate any. Rejection was unpleasant, so she intended to slip in quietly and speak to the inner circle.

  Nyptherion was a city of secrets, but Athra knew all of them. The city was devoted primarily to Nephyr, the Black Goddess of Fate, one of the three Elder Gods, coequal with Daag and Modhrin. She was a strangely silent goddess and for some reason favored Athra over the others. As such, Athra had also been favored by the priestesses of the city.

  Athra stopped and shook her head in short jerked motions, trying to erase her thoughts.

  A very mortal gesture, she mused. Then she chastised herself. Stop reflecting on myths that I now know aren’t true. The Elder Gods aren’t elder to me… it’s only because of mortal worship we believed so. We’re all coequal. Then: But they won’t like that idea at first. I’ll have to be careful.

  To most of the world, Nyptherion was merely a fable. No one knew its location, and only wish seekers and those in gravest despair found it. It promised solutions and comforts for every problem, though it rarely delivered. Those who didn’t already know its location usually died on the desert sands while searching for it. For those lucky enough to arrive, however, everyone was surprised how busy with travelers the city seemed. That, however, only went to show how many hopeless people there were in the world.