Old Dark (The Last Dragon Lord Book 1)

by Michael La Ronn

  Miri shrugged. “Earl?”

  Earl shook his head. “Beats me, Miss. I’ve learned not to structure my calendar around him—except when I’m driving him around, of course.”

  Now here was a useless man. A big, strong bodyguard to be sure. A man like him was loyal, and he likely had a few skills that Dark didn’t know about, but he was no better than a dog that followed its owner around. But for a few sentences he had spoken here and there, Dark would have taken him for a mute.

  “You are his bodyguard,” Dark said.

  “I’m his driver.”

  “His entourage.”

  “In a manner of speaking. I take him where he needs to go.”

  “You have horses, do you not?”

  Earl took out a black piece of metal from his pocket. The front of it was covered in glass. An image of a large metal object with wheels scrolled across the screen. It looked like a wagon, but there were people inside, and it moved at a high speed among wagons of the same kind.

  “It’s a car,” Earl said.

  “The modern equivalent of a wagon,” Miri interrupted. “It’s an advancement in technology. It’s how we get around.”

  Dark regarded the “cars.” A remarkable piece of technology, to be sure. Protection from the elements. Intelligent, except for the fact that the hunks of metal appeared uncomfortable and it was impossible to tell who was in them. A benefit of a wagon was that you knew who was coming from a mile away.

  On the other side of the room, the door opened.

  Lucan strolled into the room with sunglasses on.

  Dark glanced between the Lucan in front of him and the Lucan on the screen. How could a man be in two places at once?

  Lucan took off his sunglasses and started yelling.

  XXXI

  Lucan took one look around the factory, and the only thing he could do was curse.

  The dragon’s muzzle lay on the floor along with buckets of half-eaten meat. Dark, Miri, and Earl were talking, and it sounded like the dragon understood what they were saying.

  “What the hell is this?” Lucan asked, ripping off his sunglasses.

  “Lucan,” Miri said, taken aback, “I’m glad you’re here. We were just—”

  Lucan stomped across the factory floor and tore past Miri. He slid his grimoire out of his pocket, activated the wheel, and selected a paralysis rune. A bright blast slammed into Dark, making him rigid. The dragon tried to yell, but his mouth was held open in mid-roar.

  “What are you doing?” Miri cried. She grabbed his arm, but he smacked it away.

  “Gus! Orion!” he screamed. “Quit lagging and get in here!”

  His fingers were numb, a side effect of the spell. He couldn’t feel them, but he didn’t need them right now.

  The two men entered the room. Lucan scowled and pointed at them. “Get the goddamned muzzle on. Now.”

  Both men lowered their eyes and entered the cage.

  As the men screwed on the muzzle, Lucan wheeled around and aimed his finger at Miri. “Why the hell did you make them take it off?”

  Miri, who had grown increasingly flustered throughout the whole exchange, was beet red now.

  “Why the hell are you yelling at me?”

  “Earl!” Lucan shouted.

  “Sir,” Earl said. He stood next to Miri and tried not to show his fear.

  “I told you to keep a lid on her.”

  “No harm in it, sir.”

  “Harm? Didn’t I tell you not to talk to the dragon?”

  “How about you talk to me?” Miri said. “I’m right here, and I can speak for myself.”

  “Professor Charmwell,” Lucan said. “I have a thousand problems right now. I’m running a campaign. I’m trying to carry out the biggest cover-up in the history of the world because I have the most hated dragon lord ever in my factory. I don’t need this right now!”

  “What are you talking about?” Miri asked. “You promised me I could do research.”

  “Yes, research! Not make friends with him. Do you realize who he is?”

  “How am I supposed to do anything with a muzzle on his mouth?”

  Lucan lowered his voice.

  “There’s a reason they called him Dark the Wicked, Miri.”

  “There’s no point lowering your voice. He can still hear you.”

  “And apparently he can understand me, too, thanks to you.”

  “I don’t understand what the problem is!”

  He wanted to shake her. Typical professor. All she cared about was her work. She couldn’t have been thinking straight.

  Or maybe he wasn’t thinking straight. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t stop the outpour of anger. He kicked over a chair and yelled.

  “Keep talking to him and he’ll figure a way out of here,” Lucan said. “Do you want to explain that to Dean Rosehill?”

  Miri approached him, her face inches from his.

  “First, I am in front of the greatest dragon lord in history. He’s the most enigmatic figure that has ever lived, and you’re not going to dictate what I can and can’t do, seeing as you hired me in the first place. Second, he might be able to tell us where magical deposits are, which would help your campaign. Third, how dare you keep him in here without feeding him? You’ve been treating him like an animal, and the one who belongs in a cage is you.”

  “You wrote a thesis on him,” Lucan said. “You know how he treated people like us. He’s not elven, Miri.”

  “He’s not a wild animal, either.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s a bloodthirsty viper—”

  “You’re quoting inaccurate history books.”

  “No, I’m not—”

  “Those exact words were used in the Reign of Fenroot documentary.”

  “So?”

  “You haven’t talked to him, so you can’t make any judgments.”

  Lucan puffed. “Earl, settle this for me. Is he a teddy bear or a son of a bitch?”

  The question surprised Earl; he raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, I don’t know if those choices are a fair estimation of his personality, but I’d say he’s probably closer to the latter, sir.”

  Lucan folded his arms and smirked at Miri. “I win.”

  “You believe in human and elven rights,” Miri said. “Why doesn’t that extend to dragons?”

  “Because if dragons believed in human rights, then our ancestors wouldn’t have been prey. Call it pragmatism.”

  He snapped his fingers and the lights went out. The television glowed in the dark, illuminating everyone’s face. “You’re in my factory, you’re on my retainer, you play by my rules.”

  “Which are?”

  “Old Dark stays in the dark,” Lucan said. “Until I figure out what I’m going to do with him.”

  Dark mumbled something, but the muzzle made it unintelligible.

  Both men exited the cage and latched it shut. The paralysis spell wore off and Dark crashed to the ground, groaning.

  “Since he’s eating now, that muzzle only comes off two times a day for meals,” Lucan said. “You want permission to do anything else, you ask me.”

  “What are you going to do in the meantime?” Miri asked.

  Lucan turned his back and sighed. “I don’t know.”

  A while passed before Miri said anything. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

  Lucan laughed.

  Finding Old Dark had been scary. Finding a way to transport the dragon and cover up his tracks in the process had been challenging.

  But he wasn’t scared now.

  He was pissed. Every hour was something new, and the only way to deal with it was to fight.

  He glowered at the great dragon curled into a ball in the cage, and said, “If you understand anything, know that I’m the boss around here. I don’t care if you were a dragon lord or not. The world has gone to shit, and it’s better that you live in a cage. Trust me.”

  He heard faint voices.

  The television set was playing the news.


  “What is this, a hotel room?” he yelled. He grabbed the television and pushed it over. It landed on its side and the screen cracked.

  Miri packed her purse and started for the door.

  “And where are you going?” Lucan asked.

  “I won’t be a part of this. I won’t sanction torture.”

  He could tell that Miri wanted to cry.

  Damn. She was serious. He couldn’t let her leave. If she did, he’d have no one to advise him.

  Those familiar pangs in his stomach kicked in.

  Dial it back, Lucan. Dial it back.

  “Listen, I was a jerk,” Lucan said, jogging after her.

  “Worse,” Miri said.

  He blocked her path. “I’ve got big problems, Miri. And if I don’t do something, those problems are going to become all of our problems.”

  Miri tried to push past him, but he ignored her.

  “I might be the subject of a government investigation—all of us might. My uncle is suspicious.”

  Miri’s eyes widened. “How?”

  “Let’s just say a lot of stuff happened while you were sleeping.”

  Miri’s phone rang. She pulled it out and put her hand on her forehead, pressing against it as if a migraine were coming on.

  “I completely forgot. I’m supposed to give Dean Rosehill an answer.”

  “An answer?”

  “Magic Hope University was selected to conduct the investigation into the bog.”

  “Miri! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t realize the government was after you.”

  “What do they know?”

  “They haven’t started anything yet.”

  Lucan sighed. It was the first break he’d gotten since he found Old Dark. It was about time.

  “They asked me to lead the investigation, but I said no,” Miri said.

  Lucan walked around the room, thinking. “No. I need you there.”

  “What!”

  “I need to know what the governor knows. You can misdirect the investigation.”

  “I’m not committing a crime on your behalf.”

  “Fine. Then we all go to jail when my uncle discovers that we covered up the tomb.”

  “You covered it up, not me.”

  “You work for the university. My uncle is going to make sure he destroys you. Probably worse than me.”

  Miri sighed. “What did I get myself into…?”

  Dark lumbered to his feet. The after-effects of the spell were wearing off. He spoke through the muzzle, and his voice was tinny and muffled.

  “Lucan Grimoire.”

  Lucan turned toward the cage. “That’s me.”

  “I demand a word.”

  “I’m listening. Nice to see you can finally understand me.”

  “When were you planning on letting me out of here?” the dragon asked weakly.

  “No idea. Probably never.”

  Dark wanted to roar, but the muzzle choked his throat. “Have you no mercy on an old dragon, Lucan Grimoire?”

  Lucan wagged his finger. “Sure, I’ve got mercy. But I’m not falling for that.”

  He pivoted toward Miri. “Well, what’s it going to be?”

  Miri hadn’t been expecting any of this; it was obvious from her worried expression.

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “I don’t have a choice, Miri.”

  A low, croaky voice from the television filled the space between them.

  “How many skies must a dragon travel to reach enlightenment? These’re words I’ve’ll be remembering for the rest of my life, because a wise old dragon tol’em to me. I remembered the past tonight, even though the Magic Index was low and I had no reason to. As a matter of speaking, I think of the past all’a time, even though’ve made my life in the present, and lookin’ back is just too painful for a river dragon like me. But if you felt the hum in the air last night, you’ve’ll understand my memories. For I felt something. I don’know what it was, but when I seen the leveled trees and the big circle and the reporters all standin’ around scratchin’ their heads, I got a flashback to a memory…”

  On screen, a tremendous green dragon reported from a weather studio. He had a chubby, round face with warts all over it, and a red and white iridescent tie hung loosely around his neck. He held a microphone close to his mouth with a webbed hand, and he barely fit in the studio.

  He hiccupped, and a plosive sound exploded through the television speakers.

  “Memories are all a dragon like me has sometimes, and I’ve’ll not forget them even if it means having to bear pain. For I can feel it in my webbed hands. Somethin’as awakened.”

  Dark gripped the cage with two claws and said something that Lucan couldn’t make out.

  He was whispering the dragon’s name.

  “Frog … Frog … Frog…”

  XXXII

  Celesse eased her way into a hardware store. It was near closing time and a late surge of people flowed in and out of the lobby.

  She had changed into jeans and a t-shirt. She tied her hair into a long ponytail and wore a baseball cap that she pulled low over her eyes.

  The store aisles were packed with tall shelves that stretched at least thirty feet into the air. If you wanted something, you had to ask an elven attendant, who then used a special grimoire to call the item down. Otherwise, you had to use your own spells, and the store wasn’t responsible for anything that happened if you did.

  Fortunately, she didn’t need anything.

  Just subterfuge.

  As she passed down an aisle, weaving around several humans carrying buzz saws, she hoped that nothing fell on her. There was no point looking up in a place like this; something was always hovering just over your head.

  Hardware stores weren’t Celesse’s kind of place. She preferred luxury bars or the comfort of her own couch—or Lucan’s couch, depending on where she was staying. They’d talked about taking their relationship to the next level, but the election had put a stop to that. Now they were too busy to worry about personal matters.

  Lucan was back at the factory trying to figure out what to do with Old Dark, and here she was, cleaning up his messes.

  How much money did you have to have before responsibility kicked in?

  She’d wanted him to say the right words, hold her the right way, make the right, sweet promises. But Lucan was Lucan, and she wondered if she could get okay with that.

  She crossed into another aisle, narrowly missing a shopping cart with lumber sticking out of the front.

  The lumberyard lay fifty paces ahead, open and exposed. It was raining, but the shelves of lumber glowed pink, protected by a waterproofing spell.

  She wished she’d worn a hoodie.

  Gunther Penrose would be there, and knowing how contractors like him didn’t mind the elements, he’d be waiting in the rain.

  An automatic door slid open and she stepped into the rain. It fell gently on her shoulders and patted against her baseball cap.

  She pulled her cap down and scanned the yard. Two forklifts were parked under an overhang, and elven employees sat next to them, waiting for the rain to stop.

  The ground was slowly turning into mud and puddles. Her white tennis shoes sank into the mud and crunched gravel as she walked.

  Where was he?

  Out in the open were pyramids of firewood and tall mounds of pea gravel bags. The woody, earthy smell reached her and made her think of Lucan’s cabin in the woods, a cozy place hidden two hours from civilization.

  The rain picked up and thunder rumbled in the distance.

  She stuffed her hands into her pockets and walked into the rain.

  A whistle came from her left.

  She spun around and faced a dark aisle of two-by-fours and planks. A shadow moved near the end of the aisle.

  She stalked down the aisle. When she reached the end, a voice said, “Stay there.”

  She stopped. In front of her, several planks shifted,
making an opening. Gunther Penrose’s blue eyes were peering at her from the other side of the shelf. He wore a denim shirt and had short, cropped red hair. He smacked a white piece of gum and chewed with his mouth open.

  She didn’t care for Gunther Penrose. Rough around the edges, he had built many of Lucan’s factories and had a freewheeling way about him, and she never knew the best way to control him.

  “You sure you couldn’t do this over the phone?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He grinned and chewed faster. “You know, your pretty nails might give you away in a place like this.”

  Her nails were bright red, freshly painted yesterday. She hadn’t thought about that.

  “I made it all the way here, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re sexy in high heels, but maybe you should try the t-shirt and jeans style, is all I’m saying.”

  Creep. How many times had he undressed her in his mind already? The very thought made her sick. “I didn’t come here to flirt.”

  “Neither did I, actually.”

  “You can’t have direct contact with Lucan anymore,” Celesse said. “Not after what happened.”

  “Welp, tell your boy we got a problem.”

  Celesse sighed. “You want more money?”

  “Sheeeet. Lucan gave me more money than the last two jobs combined. That ain’t it.”

  “Is it one of your subs?”

  “No.”

  “Did the burial go as planned?”

  “No one’s going to find the remains of that tomb, trust me. You gonna let me talk or what?”

  Celesse breathed with relief. If those exposures were taken care of, then there shouldn’t have been anything to worry about.

  But she still felt a pit at the bottom of her stomach opening up, and she wanted the answer.

  “Out with it.”

  Gunther glanced around cautiously. “Remember the kid who was with us?”

  “You mean the college kid?”

  Tony Dyer. The elven student who had accompanied Lucan to the bog. Lucan had promised the boy cash, but he kept repeating that he wasn’t interested. Even Celesse had told him to take the money, but the boy wouldn’t take it, citing hope and change and honest politics and blah blah.

  “He’s accounted for,” she said.