Old Evil (The Last Dragon Lord Book 2)

by Michael La Ronn

  The wall rippled as Meah entered. She circled him and crinkled her nose as she scoffed at the magical mops.

  “Father, we have humans for that.”

  “My daughter, the world would be far better off if everyone learned how to be alone sometimes.”

  He glanced up at his daughter who was grinning at him mischievously. “How was the concert?”

  “It was glorious!” Meah said, circling a sculpture of herself. The statue was curved into an attack position. “But I met one of your old friends. Why didn’t you tell us about him?”

  Moss’s brow furrowed. “Old friend? Who? Fenroot?”

  “He says it’s been too long since you’ve met,” Meah said.

  “Who, Meah? Who?”

  “He told me to give this to you,” she said, laughing.

  He wished she’d just say the name already!

  A white grimoire fluttered down into his hand. He inspected the front and back. “It’s blank.”

  Meah’s face went long. “He said it would reveal itself to you.”

  The card glowed and a black spot appeared in the center. Moss watched with wonder as the dot began to move across the card. It traced itself into a long line, and then several other black dots appeared, inching across the grimoire until they formed a symbol.

  A black dragon. Its head faced left, as if it were looking down at someone as they paid tribute. Its wings were outstretched, and its teeth were bared.

  “He said his name was Alsatius,” Meah beamed.

  The color drained from Moss’s face. “Wh-wh-what did you say his name was again?” he whispered.

  “Alsatius,” she said. “He wore a blindfold. Couldn’t see a thing.”

  Moss stumbled backward. “But it can’t be—he’s dead. I watched him die. I burned him on the stake!”

  Meah shrugged and picked up the grimoire. “He said—”

  Her body extended to its full length and then coiled upon itself, and she writhed in pain.

  “Meah!”

  The grimoire had turned purple, and it was channeling energy into her body.

  Meah opened her mouth to speak but her lips turned purple.

  “Poison!” Moss cried. “My daughter, let go of the card!”

  But it was too late. Meah dropped to the floor, convulsing. After a long, bloody vomiting, her head turned to the side, and she was dead.

  Moss’s heart raced.

  He crawled over his daughter, crying.

  Then he thought of Mynthia.

  She was still at the stadium.

  He had to find her.

  XXXIV

  Dark entered the stadium from the roof. The place was empty except for a few stagehands sweeping up multi-colored confetti from the floor. The concert lights were still ablaze—purple and red and green and blue and orange—and they were shining in zigzagged patterns around the stadium, illuminating empty seats.

  Dark perched on the top of the roof, his wings folded against his body, surveying the area. The drizzling rain dripped down his scales—from his chin—and he looked like a gargoyle as the lightning struck.

  He counted the technicians. Six or seven. All human from the smell of them, though the wind was blowing in the wrong way for him to know for sure.

  The stage rumbled; a large door in the floor slid open and a serpentine dragon with a tattoo of a book on her chest emerged on a motorized pedestal, waving and motioning to a crowd that wasn’t there. She was identical to Meah—crimson red scales, a furry gray mane, and orange eyes that burned like electric suns.

  Cannons at the base of the stage fired roses and carnations at her, showering her with petals. She paused on stage, tilting her head in affection.

  “What a treasure I am to you all!” she said. Then she whipped around at the group of technicians and barked at them. “You didn’t bring me up fast enough. You humans are the brunt of my trouble. How hard is it to hit a button on queue? Meah and I missed yet another seven seconds of adoration tonight because of your incompetence!”

  The technicians said something to her that Dark couldn’t hear. Then she snapped at one of them, baring her yellowing teeth.

  “No excuses!” she said. “We have been performing for seven nights and still, you can’t get it right! If we hadn’t already received so much adulation I would have eaten you all and grown strong from your blood. Get out. Get out, get ouuuut!”

  A fireball leapt into her mouth and the technicians dashed off stage.

  When they were all gone, the fireball dissipated from Mynthia’s mouth and she hovered around the stage, magicking up the flower petals into a large ball that she threw into a nearby trash can.

  “I told Father we could run this show on magic alone,” she said. “But he insisted on the human element. Disgusting!”

  She coiled up on stage and began to warm her voice down, starting at a falsetto and working her voice down a long, chromatic scale. Then she sang one of her songs again, circling around stage, pausing as if on cue and glancing at the stadium seats, smiling.

  “Mynthia is the less-talented one,” Frog had said. “You’ll find her on stage going over the moves again. She does it after every show.”

  Dark spread his wings and rolled his neck from side to side. In his mind, he reached deep inside and imagined a giant sickle of pink plasma in front of him. When he blinked, it was there for him to grab. He wrapped his claw around it, felt the energy surging through his body and he aimed it for Mynthia.

  She moved around the stage too much.

  Why couldn’t the dumb girl stop for just a moment?

  Then she did, pausing and taking a bow.

  Dark seized the moment and he hurled the sickle.

  It sliced through the air silently in a long arc, and it struck Mynthia in the chest just as she raised her head from her bow.

  Blood spurted from her mouth and she crashed to the ground before she realized the sickle in her chest. She ran her claws along it, eyes wide. Then she filled the air with a piercing scream as Dark landed in front of her.

  “That’s the kind of singing I prefer to hear,” he said. He held up a claw and the pink sickle disappeared.

  “Who are you?” Mynthia asked.

  Dark tore into her neck. Her hot flesh undulated against his tongue as he pulled at it.

  Claws scratched against his chest but he tightened his grip and pulled harder. Coppery blood washed over his jaws.

  Then a thick, muscled mass covered his chest and began to squeeze.

  From the corner of his eye he looked behind—she was coiling around him.

  He jammed a hind claw into her serpentine body but it only drew a small amount of blood.

  He tightened his jaws until they hurt but still the dragon wouldn’t die!

  She squeezed him harder and he let go of her, gasping to breathe.

  “You thought you could kill me,” Mynthia said.

  She slashed at Dark’s face but he parried and blew fire at her. She screamed and uncoiled from around him, curling into a ball.

  Dark landed on the hard stage with a thud. Every bone in his body ached. He imagined himself jumping up, ready to continue the fight, but his body didn’t obey. It moved slowly, one leg after the other, dragging up his weight.

  Faster, he told himself. Faster!

  He found himself in an awkward run as he dashed at Mynthia.

  He leaped into the air with his fangs and claws ready.

  But the serpentine dragon slithered away at the last moment and Dark rolled off stage, crashing into several seats, breaking them.

  Then the lights all across the stadium went out.

  Music began to play. An electronic drumbeat. A deep, thumping bass.

  “Find me now, old dragon!” Mynthia yelled.

  Dark spun around. He could see nothing in the darkness.

  WHAM!

  Mynthia slammed into him, knocking him further into the stadium seats.

  Then she was gone.

  One by one, the lights be
gan to shine again, dancing across the empty stage.

  He tried to listen for her but the music was too loud. It shook his whole body and made his ears ring.

  Dark roared. He spread his wings and lifted off, turning his body in a circle.

  Then he saw a flash of a tail in one of the lower sections. Growling, he dove toward it.

  A supernova of light erupted next to him. A giant television screen. Three stories tall. Mynthia’s face appeared on it and she laughed at him. “You will die an agonizing death.”

  Dark screamed and changed direction, aiming himself at the television screen.

  WHACK!

  The glass shattered and cut his scales. He bounced off the screen and slid down the seats, unanchoring them as he went. The red seats launched into the air and hit him on the head as they landed.

  “Gah!” Dark cried.

  Mynthia’s voice echoed in the speakers.

  “Who put you up to this?” she asked. “Was it the governor? I’m not changing my support for Lucan Grimoire, and neither is my father.”

  Moss supporting Lucan Grimoire for governor? This was news.

  Dark roared again as he pushed a mound of chairs off him.

  Mynthia was in front of him and she lunged for his throat. But he slashed her across the face. She flew backward, spilling a trail of blood in her wake.

  He flew after her but a groaning metal whine stopped him. He looked up as a rack of lights landed on him, knocking him out of the air.

  He landed on the corner of the stage.

  The hot lights shattered, sparking into small flames.

  Mynthia laughed, her voice echoing through the space. “Tell me who sent you and maybe I’ll let you live!”

  Dark said nothing. He tried to lift the massive metal rack from his body, but it wouldn’t move.

  Was he too weak or was it his old age?

  He pushed with all his might and yelled, straining the muscles in his arms.

  Mynthia appeared in the sky above, well over the roof.

  “The time for dying is now!” she shrieked.

  She dove for him.

  This isn’t how it’s going to end, old dragon, Dark told himself.

  He glanced around. There was a tall flagpole nearby. A gray flag with a symbol of the two sisters circling each other rippled in the rain. It was bolted into the stage.

  He reached for it, but it was too far away. Inches short!

  Dark pulled himself in the direction of the flagpole and the metal rack moved with him, giving him inches of movement before clamping down on him.

  Mynthia was barreling for him, her pixied laughter filling the night and mixing in with the music.

  Dark reached for the flagpole again.

  Still too short!

  He reached again, and again, and—success! He wrapped his claws around the cold steel shaft and ripped it from the stage floor, creating a jagged, sparking edge.

  He lifted it and steadied his aim as Mynthia approached.

  XXXV

  When Moss arrived at The Cistern, it was to a trail of blood outside the front entrance, leading into the stadium.

  “Mynthia!” he cried. “Mynthia! Where are you?”

  He flew upward frantically and entered the stadium through the open roof.

  And then he saw her.

  Mynthia was in the center of the stage, but she hung lifeless, impaled by a flagpole. The pole had entered through her neck, and its jagged end stuck out on the other side of her head. The pole was propped up against the wall, and she dangled in the wind like a rag doll, the rain dripping off her wings and pooling on the floor.

  “No!” Moss screamed.

  Then he noticed that the trail of blood continued up to the stage.

  A message was written in blood across the stage floor.

  Moss staggered back and fainted as he read it:

  I’m back, Moss…

  Intermezzo

  Just outside of Magic Hope City, in the bogs, stands a shrine from the reign of Fenroot.

  It is a stone shrine architected in the old dragon ways. An imposing rectangular structure, it stands tall with doors wide enough for dragons, and columns spaced wide enough for them to fit through. The stone facade has a stunning green patina with ivy growing over it in places.

  Inside is a large, empty space with murals on the walls. Of farms. Of caverns. A massive pink river is depicted running along all four walls.

  Incense burns eternally at several altars positioned around the floor—one for humans, one for elves, one for dragons, and one for the solidarity between the three races. One can smell the scents of sandalwood, musk, lemon, and fire all at once.

  The shrine has stood for almost a thousand years, and people still visit, not to pay tribute as they did in the old days, but to show their respect, for this shrine would have been unheard of in the reign of Old Dark. Families make a pilgrimage to it every year, and it has become such a popular attraction that a small town sprung up near it, with restaurants and shops and parks. Visitors from Magic Hope can visit the shrine and then spend the rest of the afternoon at famous elven restaurants. It is a welcome distraction from the busy metropolis.

  The shrine is called The Temple of Unity, and the town nearby is Bogville. There are festivals and celebrations there every new year, where dragons, humans and elves celebrate with food and fireworks.

  The Temple of Unity is revered by every race, but the truth is that it would not be standing if it were not for the efforts of a Keeper dragon named Scar. Scar was a blue dragon who lived in the bogs. He was born during the reign of Old Dark, but his family was loyal to Fenroot. Under him the temple was constructed, and Fenroot charged him with protecting it.

  And protect it he did. During Fenroot’s reign there were many Dark regime dragons who tried to undo the new ruler’s progress. The temple was an easy target.

  Scar did not let them even touch the Temple. Time and time again the dragon fought off Keepers and Crafters alike, and he accumulated many scars in all areas of his body, hence his nickname.

  When Fenroot stepped down as dragon lord, society forgot about the temple as the monster population bloomed.

  And so Scar now had to defend the Temple from monsters. And defend it he did, all while also protecting his share of the aquifer.

  Scar was a quiet dragon and he did not ask for much.

  By the time he reached two thousand years old, he was haggard and looked more than twice his age.

  Every morning he would pace the temple grounds and use his magic to keep them clean and as splendid as it was the day it was built. Then the dragon would lumber to a nearby cave and return to sleep, only waking up when large crowds visited.

  Scar was not one for small talk, and he had a reputation for being cold and short. But no one ever suffered an injury on his watch.

  One morning, as Scar was sleeping in his moss cave, he heard a prayer.

  Someone, somewhere on the temple grounds was praying.

  As a dragon, it was his duty to determine if a blessing was required. He yawned and walked out of the cave toward the temple.

  A girl in a white dress with blue hair was kneeling at a statue of Fenroot. The dragon’s statue had its wings outstretched and its posture was regal as the dragon looked out over the temple grounds as if it were protecting them.

  The girl looked fourteen or fifteen years of age, and she wore a gold necklace with wings that Scar recognized from a thousand years ago. At her feet was a puppy that looked like a wolf—it was brown with bright green eyes. It had a look that reminded Scar of wilderness, and it lay at her feet.

  “Please accept a prayer from me and pass it on to Andor,” the girl said.

  Scar rolled his eyes.

  “I pray that dragons will listen to my prayer. I pray for world peace. I pray that the aquifer is restored. But the reason I’m really here is to pray that the world doesn’t end.”

  Scar didn’t expect the prayer to change directions. It seemed like they
all followed a predictable pattern.

  “If it’s true that dragons cannot save us, if it’s true that the aquifer is too low—I want to keep living. I want there to be more to life than living in fear. I will do my part to make sure of it. I pray that you will, too.”

  Scar looked away as the girl looked up at Fenroot’s statue for a blessing. He hung his head.

  “No dragon can grant you a blessing,” he said.

  The girl looked up with misty eyes. “Why not?”

  “Because the future is not certain even for us.”

  “Then what should I pray for?” the girl asked.

  “Pray for yourself.”

  “I have been taught to be selfless.”

  “So you are part of the Order, then. I knew I recognized your necklace. You came to pay old Scar some tribute, did you?”

  The girl looked away.

  “Who let you out of hiding?” Scar asked. Eagerness rose in his breast. “Was it the great lord?”

  “I came out of my own free will,” the girl said. “He does not control me.”

  “Then take a message back for me. Tell him he owes me an apology for leaving me here in charge of this place! I’ve got only scars for my loyalty!”

  “What about a blessing?” the girl asked.

  Her dog jumped to its feet and barked at Scar, and the dragon laughed defiantly.

  “Your blessing is your fortitude, young one.”

  The dragon turned to walk away.

  “Why do you just turn away?” the girl asked. “Is all hope lost?”

  But Scar ignored her.

  “I will earn my blessing then. And it won’t come from you. Or any dragon.”

  “You dare wear the burdens of the world on your shoulders, girl?” Scar asked, turning back.

  The girl’s face hardened. She commanded her dog to follow her and she turned around.

  Scar returned to his cave and settled in the entrance. He watched the girl walk away, despondent. The puppy followed her, barking softly.

  Scar thought about her prayer, about the state of the world, and determined it was all a terrible mess. Then he settled back into sleep, quickly forgetting the entire encounter.