by Sarah Hawke
“Hold on a second,” he interrupted, throwing up his hands. “You’re telling me that the exact books you were looking for this whole time were just sitting out on a table waiting for us?”
“Evidently, yes.”
“And that doesn’t strike you as a bit odd?”
“We’re not that lucky,” Kaseya whispered.
“No one is that lucky,” Jorem corrected. “There are thousands upon thousands of books here, all perfectly shelved and organized. This whole place is pristine—it looks like it was cleaned five minutes ago. Yet here we are standing by the only unsorted pile of books in the library, and they just so happen to be about the one thing we’re here for.”
Selvhara finally dragged her eyes up from the table. “It is rather…convenient.”
“Convenient is having someone along who happens to be able to read the placards outside,” Jorem said. “This…I don’t know what this is, but it goes way beyond happenstance. This smells like a setup.”
He hissed between his teeth and stretched out through the Aether. His first impulse was to assume this was all some kind of illusion, but if it was the magic was far too powerful for him to unravel. Valuri would have been able to see through even the most powerful veil, of course, but she wasn’t here.
But she would be, if not for the information provided by Solemi. Was that intentional? Is this all some kind of elaborate trap?
“What would anyone have to gain by luring us here?” Kaseya asked, frowning at the books. “I doubt that Solemi would want us to know she has access to a drow city and all the magic within—it would only make her look worse in the eyes of the Council.”
“The simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” he said. “Varassa told us about the city and arranged for us to get inside, ostensibly to see some ‘magical arsenal’ her mistress was about to unlock.”
Kaseya shook her head. “But what does that have to do with these books?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted.
Selvhara pursed her lips as she touched another book. “Could Varassa know that you carry the dragon blood?”
“I don’t see how,” Jorem said. “She knows I’m a sorcerer, but so are a lot of other people. There hasn’t been a Wyrm Lord in this part of the world in an age, even among the elves.”
“Then perhaps she had nothing to do with this,” Kaseya said. “Perhaps she wanted us to find something else.”
He sighed. “Maybe, but someone obviously set these out for us to find. The question is who…and why.”
Jorem pressed a pair of fingers against his forehead and forced himself to take a deep breath. No one had jumped out to ambush them yet, so indulging in wild conspiracy mongering was probably premature. Nevertheless, he refused to believe that all of this had just happened by accident. He felt they were being led around by an invisible leash. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.
“Perhaps someone is trying to help us,” Selvhara suggested. “Perhaps you have a mysterious benefactor.”
“That is easily the least believable theory of all,” Jorem muttered.
The druid shook her head. “Why?”
“Stick around us a bit longer and you’ll figure it out.”
Kaseya grabbed the handle of her sword as she glanced around the library again. “Coming down here was a mistake,” she said. “We should leave. Now.”
“Agreed,” Jorem said. “Come on, let’s—”
“What about the books?” Selvhara asked, snatching his wrist when he tried to turn away. “This is what we came down here for!”
“No, this is what you came down here for,” Jorem countered. “Take them if you want, but we’re getting the hell out of here.”
“But we’re not in any danger!” the druid protested. “Please, I’m not asking you to stay forever. I just need a little bit of time, maybe a few hours. If I haven’t discovered anything by then, we can head back to the surface.”
He sighed and shared another wary glance with Kaseya. She looked even less thrilled by the prospect than he did, but Selvhara was right that they weren’t in any obvious danger…at least, not yet. The desperation in the druid’s face was almost painful, and on some level he could appreciate how she felt. There was something genuinely intoxicating about libraries, even ones created by a race of pointy-eared sadists. Growing up, he had spent so much time hiding in the warrens of Vorsalos that he’d barely had time for luxuries like books, but as an adult he’d spent most of his coins on them. The ones he hadn’t wasted on booze and women, anyway…
Besides, this was obviously far more personal to her than it was to them. She was a “Keeper of the Old Ways,” after all, and even more importantly she was an elf. This history was her history. He couldn’t really fault her for not wanting to let it go so easily.
“One hour,” Jorem said, slumping against the table. “If you haven’t found anything interesting by then, we’re leaving this place and never looking back.”
***
Selvhara couldn’t stop smiling no matter how many pages she flipped through. It didn’t matter that these tomes were obviously just second-hand translations; it didn’t even matter that half the pages were smeared or barely legible. The only thing she cared about was that for a brief moment, she could pretend she was a little girl traipsing about the grand libraries of Tir Lanathel once again.
The humans can’t possibly understand what they’re dealing with her. How could they? Their short lives doom them to wallow in ignorance. The old world is nothing to them, but it is everything to you. You lived in it…and you had to watch it die.
Selvhara could feel Jorem and Kaseya looming over her shoulder. They were desperate for answers; they were desperate for a reason to leave this place behind. Their anxiousness was perfectly understandable, of course—the bizarre presence of these books was suspicious—but they also couldn’t comprehend what was truly at stake here. The One God would check in on Selvhara sooner or later, and if he learned about the existence of a second Conduit…
The truth is, you’re hoping that Jorem can save you, too. The Wyrm Lords defeated the Fallen Gods once, after all, and perhaps they could do so again. But no matter how powerful he becomes, he will never be able to save you from yourself. Without Dathiel’s power, you are nothing but a mindless beast. Even a dragon cannot tame the moon-curse…
“Fascinating,” Selvhara said, shaking away her demons and refocusing all her attention on the pages in front of her.
“You finally found something worthwhile?” Jorem asked.
“I believe so, yes,” she told him. “This translation is clearly imperfect, but it still includes many first-hand accounts from the early Second Era.”
“Uh…okay,” Jorem murmured. “Is that helpful?”
“Of course! Even at the height of the Avethian Empire, scholars were never able to definitely prove whether sorcery emerged from dragons or vice versa. It has always been the prototypical causality dilemma.”
He blinked. “The what now?”
“No one knows what came first,” Selvhara said, smiling. “The drolask have always claimed that the dragons of the ancient world were the original sorcerers. In their version of history, these dragons battled and ultimately destroyed the Fallen Gods during the Godswar. It was only later, when the dragons ‘intermingled’ with elves, that sorcery became the province of our people.”
“And the Avetharri believe the opposite,” Kaseya said.
The druid nodded. “In official Avethian texts, the elves mastered sorcery on their own during the Godswar. It wasn’t until later, after the founding of the First Empire, that my ancestors mixed elven and draconic blood. This triggered an apotheosis where the first Wyrm Lords were born, each with his or her own brood ruling a corner of the world.”
Jorem shook his head. “Okay, well, as fascinating as all of that is, how does it possibly help us?”
“It’s important to focus on the similarities rather than the differences. While the timelines
are different, both versions contain significant interbreeding between the species.”
Jorem braced his palms on the table. “You’re reading about elves fucking dragons?”
“Not exactly,” Selvhara said. “Well, actually…yes, I suppose so.”
He grunted. “I thought you wanted to steal ancient tomes of awesome power, not read a bunch of books about weird dragon sex. If you’re into that kind of thing, there are a few booksellers in Vorsalos who have—”
“That is not what I meant,” Selvhara said, her cheeks flushing. “The point is that draconic ascension is not so different from lycanthropy or even vampirism. They are all driven by a blood legacy—an original source of power from which all others are inexorably linked. This book contains many techniques for tapping into that legacy, but most of them are quite cumbersome even with magic. However, thanks to my…condition…I believe I can use these as a guideline and greatly accelerate the process.”
“I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Jorem said.
“I promised the Vin Aetheri that my curse would give me the necessary insight to aid you, and this book confirms it,” she said. “But to do so…I will need to access your ancestral memories again.”
“In other words, she needs more of your seed,” Kaseya said.
Jorem’s arms wobbled, and he nearly collapsed on the table. “You can’t be serious…”
“Other than tasting your blood, there is no other way,” Selvhara said. “And we have already discussed how much I would need to drain for a proper reading. It would not be pleasant, and I sincerely doubt you wish to hemorrhage that much of your vitality here while we are vulnerable.”
“I don’t want to hemorrhage anything while we are this vulnerable!” Jorem protested. “This is crazy.”
Kaseya turned and eyed the druid for a long moment. “Are you certain that this will work?”
“I am certain it will expedite the process,” Selvhara said. “There’s a great more I need to learn, obviously, but I believe I can follow these markers and get some answers.”
Jorem smacked his forehead. “Look, I’ve tried to explain this to Val a thousand times, but I am not a human faucet.”
The druid frowned. “Was the last time really so unpleasant?”
“Well, no, but…that’s not really the point!”
“Then I do not understand the problem,” Selvhara said, sliding out of her chair and sinking down to her knees in front of him. “This will not take long.”
She tucked her hair behind her pointed ears and reached for his trousers—at which point Kaseya snatched her wrist.
“He is my Maskari,” she said. “I will drain him.”
After glaring at the druid for several seconds, Kaseya placed her sword and shield on the table, dropped down to her knees, and then pulled her own hair out of the way. She reached for Jorem’s trousers just like she had done a hundred times before, and he stuttered and shook his head even as she skillfully freed his cock.
“This is insane!” he protested. “We’re in the middle of a…a…oh…oh, shit…”
Whatever meager willpower he might have had wilted at the same rate his cock stiffened, and Selvhara watched, mesmerized, as the amazon skillfully dragged her soft tongue up and down the shaft. Human females were usually such clumsy lovers; once again their short lives deprived them of the necessary experience to become true masters. But with her collar revealing Jorem’s innermost desires, the amazon had him hard, throbbing, and plunging between her lips in no time.
Selvhara sank back on her haunches and touched her anklet. Her armor retracted, giving Jorem a clear, top-down view of her naked elven body. But she didn’t do it just for him; the instant her armor receded, she gently slipped a finger into her own quim. Her heart pounded in anticipation of taking a dragon in her mouth again, and her bestial blood yearned to taste his ancestral memories. Her toes curled, her quim slickened, and Jorem seemed like he was only seconds away from eruption…
Kaseya abruptly pulled her lips away, though she kept two of her fingers curled around the throbbing shaft. “You may help,” she whispered, a coy smile tugging at her lips. “Assuming your skills are up to the challenge.”
The amazon offered the druid Jorem’s cock as if she were sharing a prize piece of meat, and Selvhara happily leaned forward and swallowed the tip. She might not have had a collar to tell her what he wanted, but an eternity of experience easily made up the difference. She kept her eyes locked upon his even when she swallowed him to the hilt, and she made certain to grant him an unobstructed view of her breasts at all times. Every few seconds Kaseya would ask for another taste, and eventually they began lathering his shaft together.
“I…can’t…believe…we’re…ooh!” Jorem groaned.
As his cock throbbed atop her tongue, Selvhara tried to slip another finger into her quim…but Kaseya beat her to that, too. As if by magic, the amazon’s right hand was suddenly resting atop the druid’s clit, and when Kaseya eased two of her long, slender fingers inside Selvhara gasped and shuddered in climax—
“Oh, gods,” Jorem gasped. “Here it comes!”
Kaseya grabbed his cock and aimed it into Selvhara’s waiting mouth. The druid barely had time to brace herself before his searing seed blasted across her tongue and flooded her throat. His heady human taste ignited her quim like kindling, and Kaseya’s skilled fingers only stoked the flames. Selvhara had to dig her fingernails into his thighs just to hold herself steady while another climax shuddered through her, and she angled her chin upwards to make sure she didn’t spill a single drop.
“Fuck…” he breathed, struggling not fall over. “That better be enough, sweetheart, because it’s all I have left…”
It was. Selvhara closed her lips and swallowed, and a river of ancestral memories washed over her as his seed slit down her throat. Just like before, she could visualize his entire sorcerous lineage for a hundred generations—their faces, their lives, their powers—all the way back to the original Wyrm Lord who had first started this draconic legacy. The similarities to the moon-curse really were striking…if someone had sampled her blood, they would have been able to see the first lycanthrope to spread his “gift” across Varellon.
The key to unlocking Jorem’s powers was to rebuild the links between old and new. As Jorem’s ancestors had gradually forgotten their heritage, they had essentially built dams in the river that was his blood. All Selvhara needed to do was shatter enough of those barriers so the memories could freely flow…
“She’s in a trance almost like Valuri,” Jorem whispered. “Why do I keep meeting women like this?”
“Are you really complaining?” Kaseya asked.
“Mm…no. No, I guess not.”
Selvhara’s eyes slowly fluttered back open as she licked the last few dribbles of seed from her lips. “The books were right,” she said. “I found the markers in your memories.”
“That’s great…I guess,” Jorem murmured as he slouched back against the bookshelf. “So can we get the hell out of here yet or what?”
“Soon,” Selvhara said, standing. “There is only one thing left to do.”
He shook his head. “What’s that?”
“Marhaak kûl drakatharri,” she told him. “We’re going to unleash the dragon.”
6
Separate Paths
The Duskwatch tunnels were longer and mustier than Julian Cassel remembered, but every time he caught a whiff of moldy, stale air he reminded himself that he and his companion didn’t really have any choice. With the Vorsalosian army parked outside Highwind—and getting larger every day—this was the only realistic means for them to leave the city and reach the Silver Tower.
And just remember that the journey will actually be the easy part. Convincing the other knights to follow an Eternal Priestess…that’s going to be the real challenge.
“Are you doing all right back there?” he asked as they passed beneath another ramshackle cross brace that looked li
ke it was about to collapse.
“Yes,” Tahira replied. “I was just thinking of how much these passages remind me of the abandoned orc tunnels outside our temple in the mountains.”
Cassel nodded. “I’ve heard all kinds of theories about why Highwind seems like it’s built on ant farm. Most sages seem to think the tunnels were all built by the dark elves over the course of the last millennia. Others believe they were built by rebellious slaves trying to escape the Avethian Empire.”
“What do you believe?”
“I’m no scholar,” he said. “But I am a pretty good gambler, and if I were placing a bet I’d say both are partially true. I’d also bet that half of these old tunnels would have collapsed by now if not for the smuggling cartels using them to ferry contraband into the city. In theory, the Lecasi Brotherhood is a pale shadow of its former self, but aspiring crime lords like the Black Mistress have swept in and picked up where the old guilds left off.”
“I do not understand how your people can abide such chaos,” Tahira whispered.
Cassel shrugged. “I know it’s hard to fathom, but there are over a million people in the Northern Reaches these days, and well over half of them live in Highwind. ‘Order’ is a relative term when you’re dealing with that many bodies.”
“I know so little about…everything. You must find my ignorance quite tedious.”
He stopped and frowned at her. “I don’t find any part of you ‘tedious.’ It’s not your fault you lived your whole life in a monastery.”
Tahira smiled. It was so earnest, so innocent, that Cassel occasionally had to remind himself that this girl—this young woman—may have been the most powerful person in the whole bloody region. If he hadn’t seen (and felt) what she was capable of firsthand, he never would have believed it. Preconceptions about her age and affiliations were going to be a major obstacle in convincing the knights at the Silver Tower to trust and respect her.
“I have spent much of this week wondering what my life would have been like if I had been born here rather than the temple,” she said. “I have no idea what I would have done with my life.”