“She’s right,” Odoune told Aradma. “We must get you—all of you—out of here.”
“No, there’s no time!” Aradma pressed. “For the first time, I know the truth of my being, and he cannot take that away from me again—but I am still bound to him. If you stay here, you will die. I will find a way to defeat him. You must trust me, but you must go.”
“No!” Fernwalker insisted.
Aradma turned to the vampire. “Sidhna…” She didn’t have to say any more. A flash of understanding sparked between them.
The vampire moved faster than the eye could see, tapping Odoune and Fernwalker in the back of the skull, knocking them unconscious. She lifted them in each arm and then sped out of the great caverns, away from the troglodyte city.
Aradma turned to Arda and Tiberan.
Tiberan!
She wanted to go to him, caress his face, and shower his cheeks with kisses. Four seals, Athaym had said. Arda was Kaldor’s paladin. She must be the Seal of Light. Tiberan…
“Valkrage didn’t kill you!” she exclaimed, putting the pieces together.
“He threw me forward in time,” he confirmed.
“And gave you his seal.”
Tiberan nodded.
Aradma turned and saw Athaym—she refused to think of him as Klrain—hurrying from Taer Koorla’s base.
She turned her back to him and pressed the prison shells closed. Before they sealed Arda and Tiberan in their fleshy embraces, she whispered to them, “I will find a way.”
She stood once more and faced her adversary.
“Well,” Athaym said as he approached. She could feel him probing her through the bond, and she could feel him in turn. He was uncertain. He had not found what followed him from Windbowl, and it vexed him. She felt his doubt. “It seems you have put yourself back together,” he stated.
She folded her arms across her chest, and inclined her head, saying nothing.
He shrugged. “Come.”
He turned and, compelled by his words, she followed.
“It is time to wake Naiadne and her fallen hosts,” he said. “Let us gather the demon and troglodyte armies and take Artalon. Let there be an ending to all of this.”
Aradma followed. She carefully guarded and hid her anger. Now was not the time for rage; now was the time for calculation. Now was the time for clarity of thought. She was certain in her self and sense of purpose, but she was far from certain in how she might undo him.
No matter how she turned it around in her head, Athaym had the keys to Artalon and the power to take it.
Doubt returned.
PART 3: GOD SPIRE
32 - An Unusual Alliance
War Captain Tallindra reclined in her high-backed seat at the top of God Spire. She had abandoned the classical wizard’s robe in favor of a narrow skirt and vest. She crossed her legs and rested her hands in her lap, rocking back and forth on the magically suspended chair and contemplating the now-extinguished communications candle.
The troglodytes are coming.
Tiberan had been clear. She agreed with his assessment and knew if the ancient armies of the Black Dragon descended upon them here, while they were all in disarray at each other’s throats, it would be the end of them.
What is Klrain’s purpose?
Her intelligence reports indicated that the others called him Athaym now, but she didn’t like to use that name. It was easy to forget the threat that way. To call him Klrain better captured the truth of the enemy, even if he was just a part of his ancient self.
Tallindra was one of five sidhe war captains in Artalon. She had returned to the city after Tindron’s idiocy in trying to destroy God Spire. It would have been better, in her mind, to put sidhe arrogance aside and broker some kind of coalition with the gnomes. They had built Artalon, after all. But the war had started, and she was sidhe.
Tallindra had argued for diplomacy, but every time the War Council met they outvoted her. In ten years, she had swayed one other war captain to her side, but two votes were not enough. By now, she suspected the other three would never bend, and even her ally was starting to swing back to their way of seeing things. Too many high elves had been lost, and the War Council acted on behalf of the ruling courts of the only two remaining sidhe cities. The Frost and Flame Courts were too concerned with what might happen should another race use Artalon to gain control of the Kairantheum.
Artalon’s secret was now known to all. Over the years, even the sidhe had forgotten the history of the Kairantheum and that the gnomes had built Artalon to take control of it. Only the highest lords of the sidhe courts had maintained the secret through the ages, and they had tried to keep its truth hidden even from Valkrage. Now its purpose was revealed, and both the Frost and Flame Courts knew of Those Who Dwell Beyond. They refused to accept the risk that Ahmbren’s only protection from those alien beings be weakened.
Then there was the thought that if another race might succeed in unlocking Artalon, what would they do with the power to control the gods? The lesser races resented the high elves.
And to be fair, with cause, she thought.
The sidhe had once tried to exterminate the human race. That was long ago, but memories were equally long. The humans had brought Dis into the world and then attempted to do the same thing to the sidhe, until only two courts of the Imperium remained. The gnomes tried to hijack the Kairantheum, and trolls… well, trolls were primitive, vile creatures, switching between extremes of patriarchy and matriarchy and unable to find any sort of civilized balance. Orcs had no capacity for art or beauty, but were largely not a threat to the sidhe’s magically protected homes. And the dwarves… the dwarves were the only natural Ahmbren race that the sidhe had never had any quarrel with. If they wanted to dig in the dirt, that was fine with the high elves. And their craftsmanship rivaled elven art in its own way. There was even a sidhe school of art inspired by dwarven culture, and dwarven fashion had become quite the exotic rage for a time, a few thousand years ago.
“Tea,” Tallindra instructed.
The troll slave woman, who had until now waited quietly in the shadows, attended to her mistress’s needs. She went to the room’s tea table, poured water kept hot by the enchanted tea kettle, brought the war captain a saucer and a fine porcelain teacup, and set them on the desk.
Tallindra regarded the troll as she returned silently to her place at the wall. Strange race, trolls. Because of a goddess’s interference centuries ago—because of the sidhe-created Kairantheum—troll women now looked more like humans than their men did.
The troll stood without expression, watchfully attentive should any further assistance be required. This one had been hard to break, but the silver bracelets connected by fine chains to two rings on each hand, and the corresponding metal collar around her neck, always succeeded in producing a docile slave. The harness was magically attuned to a golden ruby ring on Tallindra’s right index finger. Through it, she could control sensations of intense agony or overwhelming pleasure.
The troll was dressed modestly like any war slave of the sidhe—high elves were nothing like the savage orcs who shamed their captives by making them serve naked—in a simple, full-length blue gown with black trim. The troll’s indigo-skinned arms were bare to the shoulders, and the neckline rose high, sewn to the fitted slave collar. The blue fabric marked her as property of the Frost Court, to which Tallindra belonged.
Yes, there was much risk in the possibility of the other factions gaining access to Artalon. But the alternative?
The Black Dragon is coming.
The last time the Black Dragon came towards Artalon, the city had been sunk beneath the sea before he could reach it. When his dreamwalker had come before that, he had corrupted the city and brought about the Darkling Empire.
And this time, Tiberan warned of troglodyte armies, which hadn’t risen to the surface since the First Age.
We must put aside our differences if we are to survive. She regarded the troll. Filthy creature. No.
I must stop thinking like this. She’d always took pride in how she intermingled with humans. Now she wondered if she did so only to make herself feel superior to the other sidhe. And yet here she was, ready to punish this broken troll woman…
“Oriand,” she said. “Come here. Sit down.” She gestured to one of the chairs that sat in front of her desk for visiting sidhe officers.
The troll looked uncertain. Conflicting emotions played over her face, and Tallindra could feel them through the magic control ring she wore on her hand. Oriand hated her, and at the same time wanted to please her. Oriand had been trained, but she was aware of it and hated herself for feeling so… grateful for her lady’s attention.
Tallindra thought for a brief moment of sending gentle soothing feelings through the ring, but she stopped herself. More control, she told herself. That’s our problem. We were always too in control. We’ve lost the capacity to trust. Ourselves. Each other. Anything.
Oriand complied and approached, with each step uncertain of where this would lead. A sidhe had never asked her to sit before. The troll woman sat in the chair, back straight and rigid, eyes fixed upon her mistress.
And then Tallindra felt it. There was a brief calculation in the troll, a moment where she studied the situation. And then Tallindra knew the troll was not completely broken. She still searched for a way to escape, an opportunity to resist, while trying to hide it so well that she wouldn’t be punished.
Tallindra fingered the ring out of habit.
Oriand tensed.
Tallindra stopped playing with the magic ring and folded her hands on her lap beneath the desk, out of Oriand’s sight.
“What did you find in the darkling libraries?” Tallindra asked.
“I have confessed already, mistress,” the troll replied.
Tallindra wondered. There was still spine left in this woman. She wasn’t completely broken. But then, the sidhe interrogators often thought to solve all their problems with pain. Foolish men.
“You’ve told me about your companions,” the elven wizard acknowledged, leaning forward on the desk, folding her hands and resting her mouth on her fingers. “The sorceress, the paladin. You said they went into Dis.”
“It is true, mistress.”
“Why?”
Oriand’s composure slipped for a brief moment. “I don’t understand, mistress,” she said.
“Why did they go into Dis?”
Oriand’s brow furrowed in concern. “She’s a sorceress. She did not share her secrets with me.”
No. Not concern. She’s steeling herself. Then: They missed it! The interrogators were blinded by arrogance! They assumed it would be natural for a human and a darkling not to share their secrets with a troll. They can’t help but assume the other races share our prejudices…
“You lie,” Tallindra stated softly.
Oriand shrank back. She feared the pain; that was good. But it hadn’t been enough to break her—only enough to make her compliant.
The Black Dragon is coming!
“Oriand,” Tallindra said softly, “have I not been good to you?”
Oriand nodded, eyes wide. “You have, mistress.”
“Oriand, I need to know everything you know. The Black Dragon is coming. I’ve spoken with Tiberan—”
“Tiberan?!” Oriand forgot herself. She lost her composure and gripped the arms of her chair, leaning forward. “You’ve spoken with Tiberan?”
“You know him?” Tallindra cocked her head curiously.
Oriand leaned back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest.
“Oriand,” Tallindra started again. She fingered the ring on her finger, deliberately now. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this. You must tell me what you know. The Black Dragon is coming. I don’t want to use this, but I will if I have to.”
Oriand clenched the chair’s arms and steeled herself.
Tallindra touched the ring and activated the magic of Oriand’s slave harness, sending pleasure so intense the troll shuddered in surprise as it flooded her body, then surprise melted away to bliss as she exhaled a silky moan. It was pure joy, similar to how one felt when in love for the first time and when that love was returned. Warmth and acceptance that overwhelmed.
The sidhe let go of the ring before the pleasure grew so intense it stopped the troll’s heart. She knew that now would come the empty aches and craving for what the woman had just experienced.
Oriand slumped over, breathing faintly. She clutched her sides. “What did you do to me?”
The interrogators are foolishly obsessed with pain, Tallindra thought to herself again. Aloud, she said, “I need to know—”
“What?” Oriand interrupted. “Anything. Everything.” She gazed hungrily now at Tallindra’s finger. “They went to Dis to find out how to unlock Artalon. They want to control the gods.”
Tallindra hissed in shock. They are close to finding the Stag Throne. And the Black Dragon was coming. It couldn’t be coincidence.
Tallindra rewarded Oriand with an influx of ecstasy and then withdrew it once more. “Do you have more to tell me?” she asked.
Oriand’s eyes watered, and she breathed heavily. “Oh yes… much more.”
The troll started with her time as the Matriarch—now that was interesting!—and the arrival of the seelie called Aradma. And Tiberan. And then her time with Kaldor—Archurion’s avatar!—and his charge to them. Tallindra had already learned about Athaym, but Oriand filled in the gaps so that everything else fell into place, including Arda and Anuit’s opening a gateway to Dis.
It would be foolish to think that Athaym was not active in the Demon City. And Arda was the Seal of Light. Aradma the Seal of Life. Athaym had Aradma, and if Arda were in Dis, then it was only a matter of time…
Only the Seal of Time remained missing. Valkrage… had he passed it on before he died? Damn her uncle, but she didn’t know.
It was too risky. If Athaym—he is the Seal of Dark!—was able to gather the keys to the Stag Throne…
She bolted upright. Oriand lay bent over on her desk, breathing and twitching. Tears glistened on her cheeks. Tallindra dialed the pleasure back down to a tolerable level that wouldn’t leave Oriand useless.
“Come with me,” she said. “I want you to hear this.”
The other war captains already argued in the council chamber near the shattered false throne where Valkrage had died. They gathered around a long table, atop which floated magical projections of the surrounding battle map. They were all there: the woman Yoshalla, and the three men, Mikalbrand, Morinoshi, and Pleadran. Yoshalla and Mikalbrand wore the reds of the Flame Court, and the other two bore the Frost Court's blues.
“What is this?” Tallindra asked, approaching. “You make plans and don’t notify the whole council?”
Oriand followed closely behind her mistress.
“I could ask you the same, Tallindra,” Mikalbrand remarked with a raised eyebrow. “You bring a slave with you. Why?”
“I want you to hear what she has to say, what your interrogators missed.”
They listened as Oriand repeated her story.
When she finished, the troll looked longingly at Tallindra’s ring in expectation. Tallindra glanced down at the ring with a twinge of guilt. We’re all animals, she thought. My people are no different. We would be the same under the control of such a thing. That’s what we don’t want to acknowledge.
The War Council regarded her skeptically. “And what do you want us to do with this… drivel?” Mikalbrand asked.
“The Black Dragon is coming!” Tallindra exclaimed. It was all she could do to keep herself from shouting at them. “We must unite the armies here! Call for a truce.”
Pleadran rolled his eyes. “Please, Tallindra. You’ve been saying this for a decade now.”
“If Athaym—Klrain—gets control of the city, it’s over for all of us.” She wanted to take each of them and yank their ears. “Gods, elves, everyone! Tiberan’s been telling me the same thing. I
f it weren’t for him watching the dragons, then we’d already be finished.” She gasped. She hadn’t intended to let that slip.
The other four narrowed their eyes.
“What I find curious,” Yoshalla remarked, pressing her fingertips together, “is that you knew of dragons and didn’t tell us.”
Morinoshi turned to Mikalbrand. “Send word to both courts. They are to collect the dragons. With them, we can end this war.”
“No!” Tallindra shouted. “Have you forgotten yourself? We serve them!”
“The dragons abandoned us,” Yoshalla reminded her. “And the Fae Court is no more. We owe them nothing.”
“Tallindra,” Mikalbrand declared, “you are hereby stripped of your rank and under arrest. You will submit to—”
Tallindra didn’t let him finish. She grabbed Oriand and then discharged a translocation spell, taking them out of the city.
Oriand blinked. “Where are we?” the troll asked. She pawed at Tallindra’s hand, fumbling with the ring. “Please, a little more. I’ve been good.”
They stood outside Artalon on the northern beach in the middle of the troll camp. Men and women noticed them and quickly moved to surround them.
Tallindra rewarded Oriand with a trickle of ecstasy, murmuring, “I hope your people are more capable of listening. If I’m to betray my own, it had better be worth it.”
* * *
Oriand saw murder in the eyes of the troll men. If the women hadn’t intervened, they surely would have been killed. They didn’t notice her; all their attention was on the sidhe woman.
“Why are you here?” one of the troll priestesses asked, clasping her necklace of runes. Unlike the dead runestones of Karanos, these were very much alive. “Speak before you die.”
Tallindra opened her hands, showing her palms. “I must speak to your Matriarch. The Black Dragon is coming.”
The priestess looked taken aback for a moment. “The Black Dragon is dead.”
“No,” Tallindra shook her head. “His dreamwalker lives in the seelie Athaym. He has raised troglodyte armies and will take Artalon if we don’t unite.”
When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set Page 126
