Dragonvein Book Four

by Brian D. Anderson

  He smiled. “Nothing will happen to her; you have my word. Now please get some rest. You will feel better tomorrow.”

  He waited until she was rounding the corner of the hallway before returning to his seat.

  “Are you really going to let Verial Goldsong live?” asked Gracio.

  Martok rubbed at his temples. “How can I? If I do, it will encourage my enemies to strike.”

  “But you promised Miriam –”

  “I know what I promised,” he snapped. “But what else could I do? Was I supposed to tell her the truth? That in spite of all her pain, she’s going to lose her mother as well? Of course Lady Goldsong must die. And it must be a terrible death…carried out publically. It must send a clear message to my enemies. But for now, there is no need to smash an already broken heart.”

  “So you are willing to give up any chance of winning her because of this? I know you still love her.”

  Martok sighed. “Right now she’s confused. However, the hard truth is that her husband was killed on Verial's orders. Once she’s had time to fully absorb that fact, she’ll come around. I'm sure of it.”

  Gracio furled his brow. “I think you’re wrong. Regardless of what her mother has done, Miriam will never agree to her death. Think about it. Could you kill your own parent?”

  Martok’s aspect darkened. “I already did.”

  * * * * *

  Though Martok was loathe to admit it, Gracio's warning had struck deep. His friend was most likely right; Miriam was unlikely to agree to her mother's death, no matter what foul crime the woman had committed against her.

  Once left alone, he wandered the halls of Dragonvein Manor for several hours, his mind desperately searching for a course other than the one he knew he must inevitably take. Lady Goldsong, along with all those who had conspired against him, had to die. But this would destroy any chance he had of a life with Miriam. In all the time he'd spent trying to find a suitable wife and partner, none had come even close to making him feel as she did.

  Most of the mage women he had known were avid social climbers interested only in status and power. Their hearts changed direction as easily as the wind. And though it truly revolted him that Miriam had chosen a man with no magical talent whatsoever, even that served to exemplify her strength of character and will.

  Gracio had often told him that he wanted her simply because she was unattainable. He did not believe this. Not entirely, at any rate. He prized strength and loyalty above all else and had always sought to surrounded himself with people blessed with these qualities. This was why he had so much admiration for the elves. It was also why he was still alone.

  To the world at large he was brash, arrogant, and ruthless. But those who knew him best understood it was his contempt for weakness that made him behave this way. The great mage houses had deteriorated, with only a handful ever earning his respect. The House Goldsong had been one of these…until now.

  This was not the first time a mage family had sought to lay him low. Since the fall of House Bronstar he'd been forced to kill those who'd attempted to do him harm on three more occasions. So great had been his rage on the final time, for a while he felt sure that no one would ever dare to try again. But bigotry and ignorance always seemed to overcome their fear eventually. It was frustrating to the extreme. Could they not see the benefit of ending a conflict that had spanned more ages than could easily be counted?

  As for the dwarves, he could almost understand their motives. They lived virtually isolated lives, and any kind of change, however small, came slowly to their closed minds. Even so, their involvement in this latest atrocity could not be ignored.

  He passed by Miriam’s room and stood outside the door for a short time. He was tempted to see that she was resting, but finally thought better of it. Soon his name would be a curse on her lips. Because of his actions, he would become someone she could never forgive.

  In that very moment, Martok realized that his choice had been irrevocably made. He would unify the world. Only he possessed the power and the wisdom to do so. Under his banner, Lumnia would finally know peace. And though he would be hated by many at the beginning, in the end his name would surely be spoken with reverence and love.

  “To build a new world, one must first tear down the old,” he said quietly.

  Now moving with purposeful steps, he set off again until reaching his bed chamber. Once settled into bed, his mind began racing with thoughts of how the days ahead would impact on his life. Though he despised weakness, doubts over his ability to achieve his ambition could not help but form. He was attempting something way beyond the means of any other man. Was he really strong enough? Or might he simply end up like Kytain. This prospect prompted yet another consideration. Should he die, the Dragonvein name would die with him.

  The door to his room creaked open. In an instant, he was prepared to strike at anyone who might be there. Though his wards protected him from harmful magic, a dagger was still a dagger. But the silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway told him that this was no assassin.

  He sat up, knowing at once who it was. “Miriam. Is everything all right?”

  She closed the door behind her. “No. My husband is dead: murdered by my mother. And I know that regardless of what you tell me, you intend to kill her. How could you not?”

  Martok wanted to deny it, but said nothing. His heart was pounding and his eyes were transfixed on her as she made her way slowly toward him.

  “After you do this, I will be alone,” Miriam continued. “And I shall remain so for the rest of my life. I know this now. And though I will hate myself tomorrow, I would have one night of warmth – even if it is with the man who will kill my mother.”

  “I…I will spare her.”

  “You cannot. And even if you did, one of your allies would end her life in your stead. I would beg only that you end it painlessly. Do not make her suffer.”

  A dim light shining in through the window cast a blue aura around her. The sheer silk nightgown hung lightly on her slender shoulders, caressing her curves with each step she took. Martok was speechless. Such strength. She had accepted what must happen, yet not a hint of the anguish she was surely feeling had seeped into her voice.

  “Perhaps I can find a way,” he offered. “If she were to denounce her confederates –”

  “Then they would kill her,” she responded quickly. “No. The plot has failed and she has sealed her fate. In the morning I will return home. Know full well that I will hate you once she is dead. But I do not hate you now. Now...I need you.”

  Martok gazed upon her, conflicted – and a touch confused. If she were any other woman, he would immediately suspect something sinister. But with Miriam, everything was different. Perhaps his feelings were clouding his judgment. If they were, he didn’t care. He had desired her ever since that night in the ballroom. And if this was all there ever was to be for them, then he would not waste the gift that the fates had provided.

  Sliding from the bed, he stepped close. Her perfume was intoxicating - like lilacs after a Spring rain. As he wrapped his arms around her waist, the heat of her body sent his passions into an inferno of desire. Their lips hovered on the very edge of a kiss for a painfully long moment. He wanted to savor every second. Then, in a flurry of lust, Miriam crushed their lips together, her tongue searching desperately for his.

  Martok's self-control was now virtually gone. He was on the point of tearing the nightgown from her body, but Miriam eased him backwards until he was seated on the edge of the bed. Standing before him, with a succession of slow seductive movements, she allowed the gown to slip from her shoulders and settle around her ankles. Martok swallowed hard. She was everything he had dreamed of. To his eyes, her naked form was perfect. It was as if she had been created specifically to stoke all the passion and love buried deep inside him.

  As he began pulling off his nightshirt, Miriam moved in close and kissed him again, this time with a gentle pressure that gradually increased until it was al
most ferocious in power. He felt her hands sliding slowly down his chest, ever closer to his engorged member. Her fingers paused for a tantalizing moment when only inches away, both of them breathing much quicker in anticipation of the touch. Finally, she ran her palm up and down its length.

  She pushed a still gasping Martok down onto his back. “Do you love me?”

  “I do,” he replied in what was no more than a whisper. “I have loved you for so long.”

  Miriam smiled. “Then I will love you in return.”

  After pulling off his cotton pants, she crawled onto the bed. Martok rolled and hovered over her naked form. He did love her. And though she would soon be lost to him, she was his for the moment…in this truly wonderful moment.

  Not caring to delay any longer, Miriam pulled him fully down on top of her, wrapping her arms and legs around him, kissing him furiously. The instant he felt himself slipping inside her most intimate place, he became lost in desire. Her cries of passion further fueled his own desire, sending him to heights of pleasure he had never before experienced. Again and again they reached thundering, simultaneous climaxes, each one further feeding their lust.

  Martok had no idea how long had passed by the time they were both finally spent. Nor did he care. He simply closed his eyes, bathing in the afterglow with Miriam lying alongside, her arm draped across his chest. When he opened them again, he knew she would be gone. But he refused to allow even this knowledge to ruin the delight of what he had desired for so very long.

  Though he would soon do things that she would be unable to forgive, there still remained a glimmer of hope buried deep in the recesses of his mind. Perhaps there was a way. Perhaps he could find something to make her truly love him.

  He laughed inwardly, scolding himself for his own childishness. Seconds later, he drifted into the world of contented dreams.

  Chapter Twelve

  Martok stared out over the field. It was littered with bodies of the dead and drenched in their blood. Witnessing such carnage brought back the words of one of his generals.

  'Seeing too much death can change a man. It makes him hard inside. Hard and cold. And once that happens, he’ll never be able to go back to what he was before.'

  He tried to remember how many battles he had fought thus far. More than twenty for sure. This time he had arrived late, delayed by an ambush of dwarves. Their pathetic attempts on his life were laughable. And their trinkets they passed off as weapons even more so. They had sent men to die merely in the desperate hope of achieving an impossible victory. And impossible it had proved.

  The enemy had retreated from the battlefield as soon as Martok arrived, unwilling to face him. But the damage was already done in any case. They knew the end was nearing.

  “Martok!”

  He turned to see Gracio racing toward him through a throng of soldiers still reeling from the battle. The moans and cries from the wounded and dying had all but prevented his friend's voice from reaching him.

  “What news?” he asked as Gracio drew close.

  “The rumors are true,” he gasped, then paused for a moment to catch his breath. “And they plan to make use of this to compel your surrender.”

  Martok spat. “Bastards! Are you certain?”

  “There is no doubt. Miriam has borne twins. A son and a daughter that she claims to be yours.”

  A dull pain formed in the pit of Martok’s stomach. “Twins. Where are they now?”

  “That we don’t know yet. They are in hiding. But I have sent word to the Urazi. They have agreed to find them for you.”

  Martok nodded sharply. “Good. Then we must wait for them to do their work.”

  “That may take time. Should we pull our forces back until then?”

  “No. But we will not advance any further either. Let them wonder what I will do next for a while.” He could see the look of concern on his friend’s face. “Don’t worry. We have not come so far only to be defeated now.”

  “That’s not what troubles me.”

  “What is it then?”

  “It is the changes I’ve seen in you. I feel you are losing sight of what this war is all about. I fear that even if you are triumphant, nothing will have changed.”

  A look of astonishment crossed Martok's face. “Nothing will have changed? How can you say that? For the first time in its history our world will be united. One land. One rule. With all the people working together toward a common goal.”

  “But can such a thing really happen?” Gracio persisted. “You have seen the same things I have. Elves are hated more than ever now. People blame them for turning you against your own kind. And you…they call you Martok the Destroyer. Did you know that?”

  “Yes. Of course I’ve heard.” He flicked a hand. “But that is only because all they see is war. When it is over, people will feel differently.”

  “Will they? Can people forget all the death and pain so easily? I’ve seen you lay waste to entire cities, Martok. And I’ve seen the joy in your eyes while doing so. When we began, it was not there. Where once there was regret and sorrow, I now see only pleasure.”

  Martok’s anger began to surge. “Do not presume to know my mind,” he growled. “You have no idea what this war has done to me.”

  “I think I do. And I am deeply troubled by it. With each victory you grow more distant. More callous. And I am sorry to say this...more arrogant.”

  Martok glared at him, his hands balling into tight fists. No one else would dare to speak to him in such a way. “You talk as if you are somehow separate from the fray, Gracio. Remember, you have caused nearly as much suffering as I have.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “But I suffered along with them. I weep at the prospect of more blood. When was the last time you wept? Do you even remember?”

  His friend's words struck a chord. The memory of an empty bed: the one that Miriam had shared with him for one night. “I remember,” Martok said. “But the man who shed those tears is no more.”

  He drew a deep breath and relaxed his posture. “I hope that one day I can become that man again, Gracio. But I cannot fulfil my destiny with a soft heart. I have become what you see before you, not because I wished it, but because there was no other way. You, my friend, must shed my tears for me. The death I have dealt has long since dried any that I might have had.”

  “And what of Miriam? What will you do when you find her…and your children?”

  “I'll send them to the Dragon Haven until this war is all over.”

  He paused to place his hands firmly on Gracio’s shoulders. “And should things go poorly, I ask that you protect them. Should my enemies defeat me, they will then come for you and your family. Go to the dragons and take my children with you. You will be safe there.”

  Gracio forced a laugh to break the sudden tension. “I doubt it will come to that. In a month's time the other mages will have no choice but to surrender. I only caution you now because soon you will possess what you have fought so hard for. I only want you to rule with the same kindness and wisdom that you have shown throughout most of your life.”

  Martok smiled warmly. “With you by my side, I will. Whenever I might forget the gentle nature of my youth, you will serve to remind me.”

  Gracio chuckled. “I will try.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The hall was empty. Only the sound of Martok’s fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his chair penetrated the silence. With his children now safe and the enemies driven to the sea with nowhere to run, he should feel elated. His victory was all but complete. There would be peace in Lumnia. True peace. The mage houses who had been with him had already begun talks with the dwarves in Gol’ Shupa to arrange for trade to resume. Those who had tried to remain neutral had been sending gifts of gold and gems, hoping to gain his favor. Even the kings and queens of Lumnia, most of whom had sided against him, were preparing to step aside to make way for a new order. Martok’s order.

  Yes. He should feel happy in this moment. But despite all of
this success, he did not. His wards told him that a mage had stepped through his gates; though not just any mage. This was a meeting that would determine much. Often he wondered what it would be like to see her again. Before the war he would have given anything just to hear her voice. But now…

  Miriam entered through the tall archway and made her way across the polished marble floor. Martok had arranged for this meeting to be private, and the stone look on her face told him that this had been a wise choice. Her demeanor was hardly surprising. After all, he had taken her children and spirited them away to a place she could not go.

  On reaching the throne, she dropped to one knee and lowered her head. “Your Majesty,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “That is the title you prefer, is it not?”

  “I thought it fitting,” he replied casually. “Are you here on behalf of the other mages?”

  Miriam rose and met his eyes. “I am here as their emissary, yes. But also as a mother.”

  “I see. I was saddened to hear about the death of your eldest child. I want you to know that I had no hand in that.”

  “I know. The king’s youngest son was responsible. He wanted the throne for himself.”

  “Yes. That’s what I heard. I assume he has been dealt with. If not, I can always...”

  “I have already dealt with it. But I thank you for your most kind offer.”

  Martok could see the hate etched into her face. Understandable. And though he did not hold the same affection he once did, he could not help but remember the way she had touched his heart. Did he still love her? Perhaps. Was he even capable of love? For his children, certainly. But for a woman...that was debatable. She had betrayed him in a way he could never have anticipated. She had come to his bed that night intending to bear his child so that she could one day use it against him. Though she had never admitted to this, there was no other reason for her actions. Gracio strongly disagreed with him whenever the subject arose. But Martok knew better.