When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  She was not completely surprised when she turned away from the window to see Athaym standing behind her. The black-skinned elf grinned, yellow light shining in red eyes. Her apprentices had gathered, looking upon him with hunger. She knew that look: the thirst for knowledge.

  Athaym grinned and looked around him. “So powerful,” he said. “I see you’ve prepared this time. They won’t be able to threaten you in this tower for a long, long while. Your wards are beyond them.”

  “Their Academy is gone,” Seredith stated. “There are no more wizards to challenge me left here, who matter.”

  “Yes,” Athaym agreed. “You are powerful. But you could be so much more. I take it my phylactery spell was to your liking?”

  “Yes,” Seredith responded simply.

  “And you want more.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you serve me in exchange for knowledge?”

  “Yes.”

  Athaym reached into his shirt and removed an oval stone, smoothly polished and glittering of dark green and violet. Seredith stared, fascinated at its promise.

  “This,” he said, “is your key to surviving. It both takes and gives life. Through this bloodstone, you will make more like you to serve me, and you and all your people will survive my purging of mortalkind. Then you will have an eternity to explore magic.”

  Seredith reached towards the stone. Athaym handed it to her, and she took it, almost caressing it. She could sense the dark life pulsing within its depths, and it made her skin feel the stone’s touch in a way that elicited a gasp from her dead lips. She had forgotten what living touch felt like, and this stone made her fingertips feel fresh and alive.

  Athaym gestured towards her apprentices. “Them,” he said. “You must turn them.”

  Chambry immediately stepped forward. “Me,” he affirmed. “I told you before, and I tell you again—I want to be like you. I want to learn magic with you, for eternity.”

  Seredith continued to focus on the stone, turning it over and over in her hand. “How?” she asked.

  “Place it on his chest,” Athaym said. “There are no words, no spells. The stone will respond to your will. Give the stone’s life to him, and then pull it back.”

  Seredith raised her eyes and met Chambry’s gaze. “Is this what you want?”

  Chambry nodded. He opened his shirt and bared his chest to her. “Do it,” he told her.

  She placed the stone on his sternum. She could feel his heart beating through it. She did as Athaym instructed and felt the Life within the stone’s heart. She pushed it into Chambry.

  He shuddered and sighed in pleasure.

  She pulled the Life back into the stone’s heart of Darkness.

  Chambry screamed once and fell to the ground dead.

  Seredith knew what happened now. She had experienced this very fate. From the withdrawal of Life, the core of his being collapsed, creating a void that would not allow his soul to escape. Yet, his body was dead and would not allow his soul to inhabit it. He was undead.

  She waited patiently. Minutes passed until, finally, his eyes opened. They were like hers now, milky-white and distant, with a faint luminescence. His pale skin would lighten and dry even more in time, remaining only supple enough to move over withered flesh. He lay suspended on the edge of decay.

  “Seredith…” he said in a crackling voice. Even now, she knew his tongue dried, and forming words would take more effort than before. “I can’t feel. I thought I would still love you. I don’t.”

  “Only the magic,” she replied. “Yes, I knew.”

  “Only the magic,” he said.

  “The next one,” Athaym reminded her.

  She went to Emberya, the young human woman. The girl’s eyes widened in fear after hearing Chambry’s words. “No,” she stated, “I don’t want—”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Athaym told Seredith. “She is yours.”

  “No,” Emberya pleaded. “Seredith, I—”

  Seredith tore open the girl’s robe and thrust the stone against her bare flesh. The girl’s rush of pleasure interrupted her protest, and then she too screamed and fell to the ground dead.

  Ceridne, the gnomish woman, did not flinch. She said nothing as she bared her sternum and allowed Seredith to transform her.

  One by one, the rest of the circle became revenants, apprentices bound to Seredith in undeath.

  * * *

  They flew to Castle Windbowl. As they approached, Tiberan immediately saw that Odoune and Fernwalker had been right. Giant spiders scurried over the city’s rooftops, and a gargantuan black widow perched amid its web at the castle’s pinnacle.

  They circled, and the owl flew close to Tiberan. He reached out to Odoune, and in the troll’s animal form, Tiberan was able to establish a link.

  It is in the north tower, Odoune sent at him. The place where I first met Aradma.

  The symmetry of it struck Tiberan. He guided Kreen around to the north side. The spiders saw the dragon, and they moved to protect the castle.

  “Kreen,” Tiberan said, “why don’t we show them what it means to challenge a dragon?”

  Kreen roared, and they dove towards the giant black widow.

  * * *

  Seredith’s head whipped around when she heard the roar. “What is that?” she exclaimed.

  Athaym’s eyes shone with excitement, and he lost all semblance of a smile. “A dragon…” he whispered. “By what fate were they brought here to me?”

  They were still in the courtyard-side chamber. Seredith stood on the balcony—the same one from which she had witnessed the queen’s murder—and watched the great black widow turn and face the thing that flew around it. She saw orange-scaled wings riding the winds in the darkness and, on its back, a seelie man with stag antlers.

  Seredith felt fear for the first time in her revenant existence.

  The dragon was young, less than a fifth the size of the spider. It dove towards the arachnid and opened its mouth.

  Seredith pressed her mouth together, feeling anger. The spider never stood a chance.

  The young dragon exhaled a stream of fire that washed over the black widow and licked down the castle walls. It not only burnt the spiders, it melted away the magic itself that had made them large. They disintegrated even as they returned to their normal size.

  Athaym leaned over the balcony, exhilarated. “We were born to rule!” he exulted. “Dragons are Ahmbren’s true masters!”

  “His fire unravels magic!” Seredith exclaimed. “What chance do I stand?” She turned to Athaym. “Surely you do not intend to let him destroy us after you have invested in creating us.”

  Athaym nodded. “No, I do not. It saddens me, but this one is doomed. There will be more, but this dragon must die.”

  The dragon wheeled around and then charged them.

  “Get back,” Athaym told her.

  Seredith and her apprentices withdrew to the hall. She lingered in the doorway to watch.

  The fire washed over Athaym, but it seemed not to touch him. He outstretched his arms, and shadows solidified and rushed upwards. The dragon and its antlered rider fell into the room, rolling on the floor.

  Athaym stood over the dragon, placing his boot on his throat. “I’m sorry, cousin,” he said and raised his fist to end the creature’s life—

  Athaym started. He dropped his fist and turned to face the fallen seelie rider. The yellow in his red eyes glowed sharply. “It can’t be!” he exclaimed.

  The antlered seelie man rose to his feet. His own blue eyes flashed gold, as intently as Athaym’s.

  “The Seal of Time,” Athaym breathed. “You are the Seal of Time!”

  The seelie man drew his knives and moved quickly, almost faster than Seredith could see.

  Athaym stretched out his arms and caught the man’s neck. He held the antlered man high and squeezed, forcing him to drop his daggers. Liquid shadows snaked up Athaym’s arms and into the man’s heart.

  Athaym laughed. “You’r
e the Seal of Time, but your link is to Life. You can’t control your seal.”

  The man struggled, hands at his throat trying to pull away Athaym’s grip.

  Athaym seemed to have forgotten the still-living dragon that lay stunned on the floor. He turned to Seredith, still holding the other man high. “Nothing else is important now,” he said. “He is the fourth key.”

  With that, a rift of shadow opened and Athaym stepped through, carrying his prize. The fissure closed, and they were gone.

  The dragon’s breaths were shallow. Seredith drew her wand. If the creature recovered, she would be no match for it. She had to strike now.

  The owl and crane landed on the balcony.

  Seredith spun to face them. They shifted into Odoune and Fernwalker, and the young druid woman brought up her rifle again. This time, Seredith flicked her wand, and the rifle flew out of Fernwalker’s hands and over the balcony edge.

  Odoune shifted into a large bear and tensed. Fernwalker’s hands crackled with Life energy. “I don’t need the gun,” she muttered.

  Be careful, Seredith told herself. This one’s Life magic has the power to unmake you yet. She realized she didn’t know how many times the phylactery would work. She assumed its magic would hold until it was destroyed… but why chance it?

  “Stop!” Seredith shouted. “Wait!”

  The two druids paused.

  “Say what you have to say,” Fernwalker snarled. “We were friends once.”

  No, we weren’t, Seredith thought. “Yes, I remember,” the revenant said aloud. “Think quickly. Athaym gave me the power to make revenants, and the only way to do that is through Graelyn’s life force. Aradma’s life force. She’s still alive, and he has her.”

  Fernwalker’s sparks faded from her fingertips.

  “He left with your friend,” Seredith continued. “You have a choice. You can fight me, maybe kill me… or I can open a portal that will let you follow him in the Underworld. His shadowpath is fresh, and I can trace it, but only if I act quickly. It is fading fast.”

  They hesitated.

  “Leave Windbowl to me and go save your precious Aradma,” Seredith said again, “or lose her forever and save the city.”

  Odoune snarled as the bear.

  “Do it!” Fernwalker shouted. “Open the pathway!”

  Odoune shifted back into his troll form. His large almond eyes quivered in anger.

  Seredith nodded. She traced the patterns in the air with her wand, locking her magic onto Athaym’s shadowpath trail. A silver disc formed in the air, opening a translocation doorway that mirrored it.

  “Dad, let’s go,” Fernwalker said. “It’s now or never.” Without any more hesitation, she jumped through.

  Odoune looked once at Seredith, then through the window at Windbowl. Then he glanced down at the dragon and grinned. He hopped into the silver portal before it closed, leaving Seredith alone with the dragon.

  The eldritch creature lifted its head, blinking away its confusion.

  Seredith wasted no time. She retreated into the hall and gathered her apprentices, translocating them all away to safety.

  31 - Life’s Advocate

  It had been two weeks since Athaym had left Graelyn on the balcony, and he had yet to return. The elf with the bound Dragon soul wandered the tower. She had spent the last ten years shackled by his will, compelled to obey and unable to challenge him. In much of that time, her mind floated in a haze between moments of lucidity, but something was different now. She started making more connections, even as Athaym’s shadowy veil broke them again.

  She was still confused, but at least now she was aware of her confusion. She started to feel the other pieces of her mind beneath the shadow. It was as if they had a supple barrier laid atop them, and every time her thoughts tried to pull the pieces together, her focus dissolved and left her staring off into space, sometimes for hours. The same thing happened if she spent too much time dwelling on how to break or circumvent the pact-bond.

  She wanted to kill him. He couldn’t deny her from feeling that desire. She buried that thought inside, continuing to watch and wait, but the pact-bond was as strong as it had been they day he had set it. She couldn’t leave—she had been forbidden to try, and no matter how much she might will it, her body would not comply. She had to figure out how to leave without thinking of leaving. How could she get word to the outside world…?

  “How long have I been standing here?” Graelyn asked. She blinked. It had happened again, her mind dwelling too long on forbidden thoughts. She felt the elf and Fae presences press in, trying to break through the shadow, but for now she did not reach for them.

  “Most of the day.” Sidhna’s voice stretched thin and weak.

  “You need to feed,” Graelyn told her. She held her wrist forward. “Drink.”

  Sidhna’s eyes glinted hungrily, but her mouth turned down in disdain. “My venom only adds to your confusion,” she said. “As long as I feed on you, you’ll have no hope of…” She trailed off.

  Graelyn did not allow her mind to consciously realize Sidhna’s implication. “Drink,” she insisted. “You have suffered enough at my hands.”

  Sidhna took the elf’s wrist and bit through the skin. She sipped for a few seconds, then closed the wound with her blood. The vampire trembled for a moment in pleasure and then settled herself. Color returned to her face.

  The tower shuddered. A low moan sounded through Taer Koorla’s halls.

  “Something disturbs her,” Sidhna said.

  Graelyn nodded. “Athaym has returned.” She felt his presence through their bond and ran up the tower ramps to the brain center to find him standing, holding someone in his hands by the neck. A woman. A darkling woman.

  That explained Taer Koorla’s angst. Her biology reacted against a foreign body, and this woman was naked, with no skin-suit of mollusks to mark her as one of Taer Koorla’s own.

  Sidhna stopped at the entryway. “I recognize her,” she said.

  Graelyn moved around Athaym to get a better look. “I do too, somehow.”

  The darkling woman struggled against the seelie’s grip, trying to pull away his fingers from her throat, but she was not strong enough. She turned her head and caught Graelyn’s eye. The darkling stopped struggling. She kept looking at Graelyn as Athaym carried her out of the chamber and down the spiraling ramp corridors.

  “You’ll want to follow,” Sidhna whispered.

  Graelyn agreed. She hurried after them. The darkling kept staring at her.

  “She can’t be kept here,” Athaym told Graelyn. “Koorla’s immune system will devour her unless she’s skinned as choros. She’s not worth the effort. We’ll keep her in a prison pod.”

  “Why did you take her, Klrain?” Graelyn asked.

  “Because,” Athaym responded. “She has the Seal of Light in her.”

  Archurion! A tremor shot through her soul.

  “She must be important,” Graelyn responded, “for Archurion to relinquish his seal to her.”

  Athaym snorted. “She is of no consequence, but her seal is. If the Seal of Time is still out there as well… I thought this one lost.”

  A chill ran through Graelyn’s heart. If Athaym were to gather all the seals… Damn you, Aaron! she suddenly thought with vehement clarity. Damn you, Valkrage! Memories of her time incarnating within Sidhna flooded back. Why did you have to restore Artalon? If Athaym unlocked it, then everything would be for nothing.

  Athaym must have felt the spike of fear in her heart, for he stopped momentarily. He didn’t say anything and then continued on.

  Prison pods were relatively small building growths, large enough to hold one or two people. Their outer walls were rough stone-like shells, with inner fleshy chambers that would clamp down on the body and prevent the prisoner from too much freedom of movement. They appeared as something akin to large clams. The flesh inside would graft to the prisoner’s body and feed it the nutrients it needed to survive. In this manner, prisoners could be
kept until they were needed. Prison pods were rarely used on troglodytes, whose warrior honor guided them to fight in the arenas. Only the most sadistic, dishonorable troglodytes might be kept here, but those were usually killed instead. Surface dwellers and prisoners of other subterranean races might need to be held for a purpose, and these giant nonaquatic clams housed them.

  The clam flesh inside did more than just nourish prisoners. Amid their slimy folds were clumps of tendrils, smooth tentacles that would bind the limbs of their captives so that the troglodytes could open the pod shells and interrogate them without fear of them breaking loose.

  Athaym’s eyes glittered, and darkness spread over his arms and flowed into the darkling’s mouth and nose. “I bind you to me,” he said. “Your will to my will. Your purpose to my purpose. Your life to my life. I bind you to me.”

  Athaym threw the darkling into the soft flesh of one of the open pods. The tendrils immediately encircled her arms and legs, pulling her into the fleshy folds. The wet surfaces clung to her naked skin and established the nutrient links that could sustain her for years.

  She coughed, finally free of Athaym’s deathly grip. “Aradma,” she rasped. “How can you… it’s me…” Then: “You don’t recognize me. He’s done something to you.”

  Graelyn stared at her. The darkling seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place her. The elven presence pressed in on the shadowy membrane imprisoning her psyche. The darkling must have been someone the Aradma persona had known.

  Arda. The name flashed through her mind, seeping through the shadows. Graelyn’s heart quickened, and the pressure of memory trying to break through throbbed behind her eyes until pain split over her skull. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to rub away the pain.

  Athaym turned to Graelyn and locked eyes with her. “You are not to let her escape, nor are you to help her in any way.”