When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “My dear,” Tal Harun said politely, “it isn’t your sex he was interested in. If I heard correctly, it was the Seal of Light.”

  Arda took a deep breath. “Yes,” she admitted. “He was after this somehow.”

  Tal Harun nodded. “Sex is union,” he explained. “There is always an exchange. Had you joined with him in congress, your souls would touch as well, and he could—conceivably—take your seal from you. I’ve never heard of such a thing happening, considering who bore the seals before, but it’s theoretically possible.”

  His eyes grew distant, penetrating to the horizon. “Demons are close by,” he said, crouching low. “Get down.”

  Arda didn’t understand why, but she followed his lead. She could see for miles in every direction over a pockmarked landscape of yellow grass webbed between putrid olive-green pools. No one else was there, and they weren’t really crouching behind anything. Nevertheless, this was a wizard speaking, and Dis had already proved to be somewhat fluid in its reality.

  “I’ve been fighting against Kokhabaal and the other demon lords for… how long did you say I’ve been here?”

  She stared at him. He kept studying the distance, seeing things she could not see.

  “More than ten thousand years,” she finally told him.

  He turned to her. “Ten thousand…”

  Arda nodded. “A lot’s happened.”

  Tal Harun frowned. “I don’t remember my life before this,” he stated. “I know of it, but those memories are long gone. This war is all I know.”

  “Archurion brought an end to the sorcerer empire,” Arda told him gently. “It was several hundred years after you left, but he ended them. He sank Artalon beneath the sea.”

  “The Gold Dragon,” Tal Harun stated.

  “Yes,” she affirmed.

  “In my time, we didn’t believe in dragons. How wrong we were. This place used to be ruled by the Black Dragon. Yamosh came in to fill the void after he left. That was long ago.”

  “Archurion returned to Ahmbren,” Arda told him. “He found one of your descendants worthy enough of becoming his avatar. Their spirits joined, and that man, Kaldor, helped bring about the Black Dragon’s destruction. Him and the others. And he founded an order. I am one of Kaldor’s paladins.”

  Tal Harun raised an eyebrow. “Then the Artalonian legacy is only marked on your body, not your soul,” he stated. “That brings hope to me. But you said the Black Dragon was destroyed. He is not! Even now, he has returned to take Dis back from Yamosh.”

  “I—” she began, but he cut her off.

  “Quiet,” he hissed. “They are near.”

  Sweat trickled from behind her bent knees as she crouched and waited. She heard nothing but the faintest lapping of calm swamp water.

  Suddenly the water around them exploded, and a half-dozen demons erupted from the ground, surrounding them. They were vaguely reminiscent of incubi with their tails, wings, horns, and cloven feet, but there was nothing seductive about them. They were larger, much larger, and built for war. Black-plated armor covered shadow-dark skin, and their eyes burned with hot fire. They towered over Arda and the old wizard, twice as tall as any man and twice as broad. They lifted flaming swords and flails.

  “Baalenites!” Tal Harun muttered. “The demon lords are serious about you. Stay down!”

  He raised his staff and slammed it to the ground. Thunder boomed, and the top of his staff exploded in light, throwing back all the baalenites. Tal Harun whirled and pointed his staff forward, spraying a cone of fire and disintegrating the two closest to them.

  “Now, run!” he commanded and sprinted forward. “Follow me!”

  Arda wasted no time, keeping close behind the wizard. Despite his apparent age, he moved swiftly enough that she had to make an effort to keep up. She thought they would be slowed by sloshing through the swamp water, but to her amazement both of them ran over the pools’ surfaces as if running on glass. He kept muttering words to himself as they ran, and she realized they weren’t just a series of curses or the sign of a mortal too long alone in this world—they were spells. He gestured, touched, and tossed items from his robe pockets, throwing out sparks of light. Their running speed increased until Arda was sure she moved faster than her body was physically capable of carrying her. It seemed as if for every step they took, they glided ten forward.

  Tal Harun lightly touched and dragged the head of his staff to the ground on either side of them, and where he did, twisted dragon heads erupted and breathed fire on the enemies close behind.

  I think… I think he might even be better at this than Kaldor, she thought to herself. Kaldor had been powerful—of that there was no doubt. Someone worthy of Archurion would have had to be a great wizard on his own. No matter what Kaldor had said about losing the Dragon’s power in the end, she suspected the Dragon’s presence had increased the potency of his magical force beyond measure. But Tal Harun—he had the finesse of ten thousand years of practice that Arda suspected not even Kaldor could match without Archurion’s help. Despite herself and the baalenites closing in, she laughed. Kaldor of the House of Tal Harun indeed. She appreciated now what that meant.

  He stopped abruptly. “Now,” he said, “take my hand.”

  She did, and the landscape shifted again.

  This time they stood on a tower balcony overlooking a strange metallic landscape with a steel sky above them. Arda grabbed the balcony rail and caught her breath. “That was… intense,” she breathed. “Where are we now?”

  “In another layer of Dis,” he replied. “This reveals its structure more clearly. Dis is always shifting, and it is only at certain times I can translocate away. I’ve learned to read the air of this place. Soon we will be able to reach Sanctuary, and I will prepare more spells.”

  “What is Sanctuary?”

  “A pocket dimension I’ve built within Dis itself,” he said. “I can’t escape Dis, but I’ve been able to shape it to at least some degree. Sanctuary isn’t stable. We can’t stay there more than a day or two before it collapses and I must find it again.”

  “How have you survived?” Arda asked, amazed.

  He glanced at her grimly, not responding. He leaned and looked over the balcony’s gray edge. “Dis is at war with itself,” he said. “Look.”

  On the steel surface below, armies of shadow knights and baalenites fought hellhounds, demon toads, and swarms of imps—and others Arda couldn’t identify.

  “The elf girl pushes to reclaim Dis for her father.”

  Arda started. “The elf girl?” she asked. “What do you mean? What elf girl?”

  “She is young,” Tal Harun answered. “I do remember the sidhe of the world, for they tried to exterminate my people—they are the reason the others turned to sorcery and Dis is filled with demonic hosts—but she was no sidhe. I know not what she is, but she is connected to the Dark and offers a civilization of troglodytes to the Lords of Dis. She entices them away from Yamosh, though they are split.”

  “Does Yamosh not confront her?” Arda wondered.

  “Yamosh has always been somewhat unstable here,” Tal Harun responded. “He is diffuse right now, as if his focus is taxed elsewhere. He is a god, powerful but not as… here as the girl’s father.”

  “You mean Klrain,” Arda stated.

  “Yes,” Tal Harun nodded.

  “Athaym, we call him now.”

  “Too much has happened that I don’t know about,” he said, “and for the first time in a long time, the matters of Ahmbren spill into Dis. I must understand this if I am to continue my work here. Come, let us go to Sanctuary, where we can talk.”

  He turned and went into the tower and Arda followed. As they climbed, irritation at her nudity returned. She had forgotten that for a while. It wasn’t so much that she was ashamed to be seen—she was no prude, and quite comfortable in her skin—it was more the feeling of vulnerability. It wasn’t clothing she wanted so much as armor and weapons.

  They stopped in the middl
e of a stairwell for no apparent reason. “Here,” Tal Harun stated. “It is here.” He touched his staff to the wall, and a glowing rift opened. “Please, step through,” he beckoned.

  Arda entered the rift, followed by the wizard, and then the spectral portal closed and vanished.

  Arda blinked. They stood in what could only be described as the chamber of a madman. Writings and scribblings covered the stone walls, floor, and ceiling. There were two worn leather reading chairs, a single bed with a mattress, and a table full of fruit, smoked pork, and goblets filled with orange juice. Papers lay scattered about, covering everything except the food table such that she could hardly see the surfaces of the furniture or floor.

  “Don’t mind those,” Tal Harun said. “Okay, we’re safe here.” He took off his stained outer robe and handed it to her. “For now,” he said. “I’ll need it back when we venture out again.”

  Arda nodded, wrapping it around her shoulders and drawing it closed around her waist. “Thank you,” she said.

  Tal Harun took a goblet of orange juice from the table and then dropped down into one of the leather chairs—not even bothering to clear the paper—and leaned back with a sigh. “Have some food and settle in,” he invited.

  “I’m—actually, I’m not hungry,” Arda remarked.

  “That’s because your body needs neither food nor drink here,” he chuckled. “But eating is for your soul. Eat, drink, and tell me everything.”

  Arda sat in the second reading chair and relayed the entire story as she knew it, drawing heavily on what Kaldor had told her over coffee in his house in Surafel. Tal Harun listened intently, only interjecting when he sought clarity on a particular point.

  Finally, Arda finished.

  “Artalon,” he said. “You seek the secret of Artalon.”

  “Anuit first,” she replied. “I need to find her before she’s taken by Bryona, if she’s not already. After that—I don’t know. We really didn’t have a plan when we came here.”

  He sat up straight and pulled his legs up so his left foot lay curled on the chair’s seat and his right dangled over its arm. He grinned. “I already know Artalon’s secret,” he said.

  She stared at him.

  “The demons ripped the temporal records from that place and brought them here. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I was curious, but I didn’t think the knowledge particularly relevant at the time.”

  “What do you mean?” Arda asked. “What is your work here.”

  He shrugged. “Simple vengeance, I suppose. I’ve been at it for so long. I want to kill the demon lords who took the lives of the Circle of Twelve. Especially Kokhabaal. He belonged to—”

  “Desdemona.”

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “We read her writings in the darkling library,” Arda told him. “But you said you don’t remember your life on Ahmbren. How do you know of her then?”

  He gestured to all the papers. “When it became apparent to me that I would endure here longer than my mind was capable of retaining memory, I started writing things down. I study my writings constantly in order to maintain clear focus and to remind myself where I come from, that I am mortal, that I am from Ahmbren, and that Dis must be cut off from my home world.”

  She regarded him for a moment. “You haven’t told me Artalon’s secret.”

  “Oh, that.” He chuckled. “Actually, I don’t remember… give me a moment.” He got up and started rummaging in the far corner of the room. “Ah yes, here it is.”

  It can’t be this easy, she told herself. Then: Nothing about this place is easy. Even if he has the secret, I still have to get Anuit and find a way out of here—“You can’t cut us off from Ahmbren before we get back!” she suddenly blurted. “How close are you?”

  “Close,” he grinned as he returned to the chair with a sheaf of papers. “Give me a moment… yes… here it is… right here… just a moment…” His eyes quickly scanned through the scribbled writings as his hands shuffled through parchment after parchment.

  “Yes,” he finally said, putting the papers down. “The Stag Throne is hidden out of phase with Ahmbren in a pocket dimension—not unlike Sanctuary, now that I think about it. Whoever sits on the throne will touch and command the core of Ahmbren herself. Through Ahmbren the person who commands Artalon’s might can connect with every sapient mind on the planet.”

  Arda stared at him. “And then? How does that balance the Kairantheum?”

  Tal Harun shrugged. “My guess is that final answer will reveal itself to the person who sits upon the Stag Throne.”

  Arda clenched her fists in frustration. “But how do we find the throne?”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. The key is to gather the four Living Seals together in one place. They all must be present. The gnomes ensured that so long as the Archdragons were at war with each other, Artalon could never be used for its purpose.”

  “To control the gods,” Arda whispered.

  “Perhaps.” Then: “But the Archdragons are now dead. You have Archurion’s seal; I can see it in you. The others?”

  Arda shook her head. “Athaym—Klrain—he is the Seal of Dark. Aradma the Seal of Life, but she’s been lost for…”

  “Athaym is here in Dis,” he remarked. “He and the child elf sorceress.”

  “Even if Aradma is still alive,” Arda said, “what about Time? Valkrage is dead.”

  “If the seal died with Valkrage,” Tal Harun stated, “then nothing in Ahmbren or Dis can open Artalon’s secrets.”

  Arda slumped back in her chair. “Then what the fuck has all this been for?”

  Tal Harun shrugged. “Help me remove Dis from the world, and Klrain or any other sorcerer cannot draw upon demonic help. Your people might have a chance against him—he is Athaym, as you say. It’s not proper to call him Klrain. The greater Dragon is dead.”

  Arda nodded. “That’s something, at least. I’ll help you, but first we must find Anuit.”

  “Your sorceress,” he stated dryly.

  “I love her.”

  He sighed. “I understand. I once loved a sorceress… at least so these papers tell me. I don’t remember Desdemona, but my heart does. Memories fade in time, but feelings remain…” Tal Harun drifted into thought for a moment. “The Dark was not always evil,” he said.

  “Kaldor told me that once,” Arda remembered. “How can it be good?”

  “I work with all the elements when I use magic,” Tal Harun responded. “All wizards do. My power isn’t evil or good; it simply is. The Dark has been overtaken by the Black Dragon. This entire place is the fruit of his corruption, but before that, before Klrain, the Dark was simply the power of negation. It is the ability to make a choice, to say ‘No, I am not this!’ The Dark allows us to shape and define. It is Form. Order.”

  “Order?” Arda blurted, shocked. “Order isn’t dark!”

  “Isn’t it?” Tal Harun asked. “Order constricts, constrains, and defines. The Light is force. The Dark is form. The Dark receives the Light. It is unlimited potential, the possibility before definition. It is the nothingness waiting to be filled, waiting to give birth to possibility when seeded by the Light… and its nothingness allows us to negate what is in order to create again what might be. From Dark we have come, and to Dark we will return to emerge again.”

  Arda smiled in spite of herself. “That’s a very pretty thought,” she said softly. “It makes me think…”

  “What?”

  “Something Anuit told me once. ‘There is no afterlife’…”

  Tal Harun snorted.

  “…but what you just said makes me think there might be.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps.”

  “I’d like to think so,” Arda said.

  “But now, the Dark is corrupt,” Tal Harun replied. “Who knows if it will ever again be pure.”

  Arda shook her head. “Not while Athaym is the Seal of Dark. He must be killed.”

  Tal Harun regarded her. “Perhaps you are right
,” he said. “You give me hope, paladin of the Light.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, and then Tal Harun stood and stretched. “Get some sleep,” he indicated towards the bed. “I’ve some work to do, and then I’ll refresh my magic after we rest. We’ll find your friend.”

  “Thank you,” Arda said, suddenly realizing how tired she was. She lay on the bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  After some time, Arda awoke. Tal Harun sat at his workbench, hunched over a clay cube. She approached and looked over his shoulder, fascinated at what she saw. The wizard held the four-inch cube in his left hand and held his right hand several inches away. Little tendrils of purple and blue lightning spun from his fingers and danced over the cube’s surface, deepening already engraved symbols.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  He grinned. “My tablets. They’re just about complete.”

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  He stopped his work and put the cube down. Each side was divided into a series of smaller squares, and each square held a single letter of an alphabet Arda couldn’t identify. The detail work was mesmerizing. “I did. Twice. You’ve been out cold for two days.”

  She stood up, surprised. “Two days? I thought you said Sanctuary would become unstable.”

  He nodded. “Indeed. We’ve only a few more hours. I was going to wake you soon anyway.”

  “What are these?” She indicated the cube.

  “This,” he said, handing it to her, “is my life’s work. It brings all four magical elements—Time, Life, Light, and Dark—together into a cohesive whole. Depending on how you look at it, it is either a prison or a rampart and protection—a series of mystical watchtowers that will bind and contain Dis. Maybe, if we’re lucky, it will trap the Dark Lord within it—or keep him cut off from outside with its power.”

  “How long has this taken you to build?” she asked.

  “A long time. Longer than half the time I’ve been here, I think. A lot of my notes aren’t just memories preserved, but magical formulae. It’s almost done, but I know now what eluded me for so long.”