Old Evil (The Last Dragon Lord Book 2)

by Michael La Ronn

  The man fell off his horse and supplicated himself in the sand.

  “Why do you cry?” one of the Crafters asked. “You have done the dragon race an honor.”

  “What?” Fargo asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “You eased a dying dragon’s pain. He was ready to die and you helped his suffering. Why else do you think he smelled so bad?”

  “You’re not going to kill me?” he asked.

  “Far from it. We also found your horse and wagon.”

  The Crafters took him on their backs and they flew him home. He arrived two days early. The Crafters blessed his farm, burrowed deep into the cranberry bogs, infusing them with their aquifer magic. The bogs glowed, and every cranberry became a deep, vibrant red, redder and sweeter than anyone had ever seen before. Such was the power of Crafters.

  It is written that Fargo lived a long, happy life. The cranberry blight was never seen on the western continent for many, many generations.

  ACT IV

  XXVI

  Dark would not let Frog go from his embrace, so much that Frog coughed and said, “Were you planning on ever letting me go?”

  Dark hadn’t realized how long he had been hanging on. He let go and said, “Well, my boy, this has been such a pleasant surprise for me that I was savoring the moment.”

  Frog stepped back and Dark got a good look at the area. The studio in the distance was the same as the one he’d seen on television. Above, a magical pink dome glowed and insinuated itself against the morning sky. Dark was impressed with the magical craft and construction.

  And Frog himself! He was gigantic, but he still looked the same even though his boyish face was long gone. He had green scales, warty underchin and big, bug-like eyes. A specimen right out of the bog, right out of history!

  “I want to know everything you know,” Dark said. “Am I really in the future?”

  “Ya. A thousand years’ve passed. A thousand long springs.”

  Dark frowned. “I thought as much, my boy, I thought as much.”

  “But how did you wake up?” Frog asked. “The curse was too strong even for a dragon to break.”

  Dark strolled over to the pond and lay in the grass, sighing as the sunlight washed down on him. “Ah, the bog. What I wouldn’t give to be back in the real place, though I must say, I am impressed with your magical ability. And speaking of magical ability, that’s the answer to your question.”

  “What?”

  “A group of elves freed me. A Miri Charmwell and a Lucan Grimoire.”

  Frog croaked. “That can’t be. Charmwell’s a prestigious professor and Grimoire is runnin’ for governor here in the city.”

  “Indeed,” Dark said. “It was disgusting to me, too, being held in captivity by elves.” Dark snorted and closed his eyes, shaking his head. His eye socket hurt and he dipped a claw in the water and spread it across his eyelid. “They were terrible, Frog. Terrible! They would corral a god, and they would do it in a large cage, with a metal cast on my face and six crude meals a day—”

  “Where did they keep ya?” Frog asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “I believe they referred to it as a factory,” Dark said.

  “I knew there was more to Grimoire than he was letting on.”

  “Don’t worry, Frog,” Dark said, grinning. “He’ll soon be dead.”

  Frog growled. “Now listen up and listen well. You can’t go killin’ folk like you used to. It ain’t the old times anymore.”

  Dark’s face hardened and he opened his eyes. Who was this boy to tell him what he couldn’t do?

  “We’ve got laws,” Frog said. “Hurt somebody and they’ve’ll lock you away. Maybe’ve even kill you.”

  “What have I to lose? And though it’s been a thousand years, you’ll do well to curb your tone and refer to me by my true title, boy.”

  “That’s what’ve been tryin’ to tell you. Titles are no longer relevant. You’ve—”

  Dark’s claw seized on Frog’s tie, and he pulled the dragon close, growling. “You listen to me. I won’t be denied what’s owed to me. I fall asleep and you think I’ll become soft, let this world keep spinning without my opinion as if I’m just some mere dragon elder? No, no—I may have lost an eye, my body may have been busted, and I may have lost my power, but I am risen again, Frog, and I will rise even higher than before. Do you understand me? Because if you were anyone else, your throat would be on the ground.”

  Frog stammered. Dark studied the river dragon’s face and his worry displeased him.

  He’s forgotten the teachings. It’s to be expected. He’ll have to be cowed into order, and I’ll not be soft.

  “Do you understand me, Frog?”

  Frog nodded. “But you’ll do well to remember that I’m the one what been livin’ in this place. I can help ya navigate. But you’ve got to hear me—this world doesn’t work like the old times. It’s more complex, in a manner of speaking.”

  Dark clapped the dragon on the back. “That’s why I have you. There’ll be more rewards in store for you when this is all over, my river dragon. Yes, indeed. I feel terrible that you’ve had to live like this, among humans and elves. They don’t see your true potential like I do. Like my father did.”

  Frog sat in the grass and sighed wistfully. “I suppose they don’t.”

  “There are ways of making the world respect you, Frog. I have much to teach you. But tell me: is it true about my parents? The palace?”

  “All true.”

  Dark grimaced. “I failed my mother and my father. I should have eased their suffering. I should have listened to my advisors.…”

  “No point lookin’ back to the past when the future’s here in front of ya.”

  “Well said. It is my understanding that the coward Fenroot is in hiding, is he not?”

  “I ain’t seen him. Not since that day.”

  “What day?”

  “Since he attacked me and my father.”

  His father. Toad. Frog had forgotten all about the big, lumbering brute that served as his body guard.

  “Why, you are a duplicate image of your dear old father,” Dark said. “Where is Toad?”

  Frog lowered his eyes. “He’s dead.”

  “Dead!”

  “Right around the time they attacked you. Fenroot and Moss searched for any dragons who were loyal to you, and they eradicated ‘em. Many dragons went into hiding. Anyone with ties to the Dark regime was a target.”

  Dark shook with anger.

  “My father, he refused to hide. Said it wasn’t worth hidin’ for what you believed in. He stood up to Fenroot the Brute, chased him out of our bog many times. But one night the dragon came and...and...”

  “Tell me, Frog.”

  “He used my father’s rage against him. As my father was chasin’ him, Moss sprang out of nowhere and threw a bucket of tar on ‘im.”

  The image of a giant dragon covered in tar angered Dark even further.

  “He couldn’t see. And Moss mocked him the whole time. Called him a dumb animal, no smarter’n a cow. And father kept getting madder, but he couldn’t see, slammin’ into the trees. Moss covered him in feathers an’ bones, and then he set my dad on fire in front of my eyes. I’ll never forget how he laughed as my father burned. And he looked at me and said ‘Be a treasure to society, you stupid river dragon, or this is what awaits you.’”

  “I’m sorry, Frog. I know what an important figure he was to you.”

  Frog roared at Dark. “He was the only figure what for this river dragon! I held’m in my arms and I tried to wipe the tar away from his eyes, but it was magicked and it wouldn’t come off. I’ve nightmares every day of my life with his dead, charred face in my arms. And I’ve hid, stayed to myself for fear that one day I’d end up like him. But now, Lord Dark, I couldn’t care about what happens to me. I’m just ‘stupid old Frog’. They mock me in the streets, they mock me on television, and many times I’ve thought about jumpin’ off this building and not lettin’ my wings car
ry me, as punishment for these nine hundred years of cowardice.”

  “That in and of itself would be a coward’s path, Frog. Did my father teach you nothing?”

  “The only teachings I ever followed are the ones what kept me alive. I’ve much to teach you.”

  “Moss will pay dearly for what he did to Toad,” Dark said. “Rest assured, Frog. He is in the city, is he not?”

  Frog nodded.

  “And what is this I hear about him having two daughters?”

  “Two spoiled brats is more like it.”

  Dark laughed. “Oh, yes! That was very clear in the advertisement I saw. I could have clawed my remaining eye out at the mere sight of the filthy little offspring! Dragons like Moss should not be allowed to procreate. But oh my, I am monologuing again. Frog, dispel your sulking because I need your help.”

  “Help doing what?”

  “Just now I have come up with a plan.” Dark put his arm around the river dragon. “My boy, it’s time for a little old-fashioned evil.”

  XXVII

  Miri entered Governor Grimoire’s office.

  It was empty.

  She sighed with relief.

  This will make my life much easier, she thought.

  She had typed a report on the way to the Hall of Governance and she held it against her chest. The paper was still warm because she’d had to ask the governor’s secretary to print it. The secretary told her to put the report on his desk. Miri asked why she couldn’t just drop it off, but the secretary insisted that she deliver it herself.

  So she walked across the office, across the soft carpet to the governor’s large mahogany desk.

  A grimoire blinked on his desk.

  It couldn’t have been for her, so she tried not to look at it. She set the report on his desk and quickly turned away.

  Something beeped.

  She quickened her pace and then she heard the beep again.

  Her hand was on the doorknob when the office filled with loud, incessant beeping.

  The secretary, a middle-aged woman in black hair and a white dress was standing at the door, frowning. “Pick up your message already, will you?”

  Miri looked back at the desk. “I’m sorry—that’s for me?”

  “Why else do you think it’s beeping?”

  Miri walked back to the desk. The grimoire was glowing, and sure enough, it had her name on it. She picked it up, ran her hand along the glossy card stock. It responded to her touch and a message appeared on it.

  It is no longer necessary to speak with you, Professor. Dean Rosehill is already quite upset with your lack of progress. Don’t be surprised at future bad news. Get out of my office.

  Did he already know about the events of the bog?

  She didn’t know. But he was still an asshole regardless. Miri threw the grimoire on the ground and stomped out of the office.

  XXVIII

  The bookcase wall slid open and Governor Grimoire stepped out with his hands clasped behind his back.

  He was sick of Miri Charmwell and hated everything about her; her perfume, her faltering voice, her liberal pro-environment, I’m-a-professor-and-therefore-a-steward-of-the-planet bullshit.

  He stopped at his desk and picked up the report, thumbed through it, marveled at the photographs of the steel chests.

  The chests contained gold pieces, elven bones, and a cache of magic. We can find no links between the machinery that caused the damage and the chests, and we believe that they should be treated as separate discoveries.

  Ennius slammed the report on the table.

  “Drivel!” he cried.

  How hard was it to lead an investigation? This should have been simple. Go to the damn bog and find out who caused the mess. Surely there must have been machinery tracks or some other giveaway that led them to the suspect.

  The election was too close and his campaign was running on too low a margin. His nephew was enjoying a sympathy boost in the polls since he’d been shot, and it was the absolute last thing Ennius needed.

  They were within ten points of each other. Some analysts were predicting a dead heat.

  Dead heat, from a drug-using, billionaire playboy nephew who couldn’t manage money or women!

  The bookcase wall was still open. He squeezed behind the wall into a dark corridor. It was so dark he couldn’t even see the walls, but he walked, knowing the way.

  The path brightened several paces into the corridor, and he started down a long, metal staircase whose steps were meant for a dragon. Blue fluorescent lights lined the walls, and the air had a mechanical, slightly silicon-like smell.

  The hallway opened into a huge egg-like room where the walls were white and the overhead lights were blue.

  Norwyn rested in the middle of the room, lying on the floor with his eyes closed. Several metal tubes were hooked into his head, and a hazy holographic screen flickered in the air above him.

  The dragon looked as if he were sleeping, but the governor heard him talking.

  In multiple voices. At the same time.

  The screen over his head had hundreds, if not thousands of images, flashing in quick succession. Ennius could not even begin to comprehend them.

  “Norwyn,” Ennius said.

  But the dragon continued to speak as if he were not there.

  “Norwyn!” Ennius cried.

  The white dragon opened an eye, noticed the governor, and then closed it again. He said something in several voices that seemed as if he were wrapping up the conversations, and then the screen above his head went blank. The dragon opened his eyes, ripped the tubes from his head and roared at Ennius. He rose and assumed an attack stance.

  “What?!”

  “You’re obviously angry about something.”

  The anger in Norwyn’s face subsided. “I’ve told you not to interrupt me when I’m surveying.”

  “How many versions of you were there just now?”

  “In orb form? At least thirty, maybe forty.”

  “How go things in my great city?” the governor asked sarcastically.

  “You’re the governor. Shouldn’t you know?”

  “Enough joking.”

  “The crime is getting out of control, Ennius. Most of my consciousness is at the courthouse these days. When I became the Guardian of Justice, I expected that—to live at the delineation between right and wrong—but there is only so much I can judge.”

  “What about the election?”

  “Your nephew is getting a sympathy boost in the polls.”

  “What about the one who shot him?”

  “Dead.”

  “Shit.”

  “One of my detectives in the MCU has been in touch with the would-be killer’s son. Any dirt on him?”

  “Sure.”

  “What kind of answer is that?” Ennius asked.

  “A correct answer.”

  Ennius got the strange feeling that Norwyn wasn’t completely present, that his mind was still elsewhere despite the dragon looking and talking directly to him. Ennius did know better than to interrupt Norwyn right now, but he was impatient for answers.

  “And the bog? What did you find out after chasing Miri Charmwell?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Then what the hell did you spend your time doing?”

  “Don’t underestimate her. She’s smarter than she looks. And she knows the way of dragons.”

  “What does this have to do with dragons?”

  “Governor, this has always been about dragons. Believe what you want, but all elvenhood and humanity are simply living in a dragon’s world.”

  “Whatever that means. Look, I’m putting the MCU in charge of the bog investigation.”

  “It won’t matter, so fine.” The dragon settled on the metal floor and closed his eyes. “Oh, and Governor—keep a low profile for a few days, will you?”

  “I can do that as long as you deliver. I want my nephew’s head and I want it as soon as possible.”

  Norwyn yawned. “
I’ll deliver. Don’t worry.”

  XXIX

  Miri entered Dean Rosehill’s office, where the Crafter dragon was waiting for her, coiled up in the center of the room, the floor to ceiling bookshelves sitting sagely behind him. The dragon had been burning incense—he did it to help him concentrate—and the room was thick with it.

  She sighed. This was going to be the hardest moment of her life.

  “Miss Charmwell,” Dean Rosehill said. “The governor just chewed me out because your report said nothing again. Why do I suspect you have absolutely no news for me?”

  “I have news, Dean Rosehill.”

  The dragon looked at her stuffily, his spectacles glinting. “Do not delay.”

  She handed him her binder of research from the bog. “In here you will find copies of all the reports I gave to the governor. I am sorry I did not get these to you sooner. But I ask that you disregard them.”

  “Disregard!”

  Miri exhaled. “Dean Rosehill, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I will always be grateful for the fact that you took a chance on me. But I must tender my resignation from Magic Hope University tonight.”

  The dragon roared. “You silly girl! Resign from the most prestigious university on the continent? In the eve of our most glorious partnership?!”

  The dragon uncurled and rose into the air, reared back like a cobra.

  Then Miri told him everything.

  Everything.

  About Lucan. The expedition into the bog. Old Dark. The cover up. The false reports.

  Dean Rosehill listened in shock, baring his teeth the entire time.

  “I ask that you spare Laner,” Miri said. “He had nothing to do with any of this, and my actions were my own.”

  Dean Rosehill looked as if he were going to lash out at her. Miri expected it. She’d felt so low these last few days that if he ended her misery, she wouldn’t have been upset dying in the jaws of a dragon.

  As she let it all out, she felt an overwhelming relief wash over her.