When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “I don’t know.” She frowned. “I don’t remember.” She glanced at the two women and finally realized what troubled the man. A broken memory surfaced in her mind. A giggle. And then it was gone. Another piece of a memory, out of context. The people of this world live in shame, a distant voice echoed in her mind. She pulled the wool blanket back up and held it to her chest.

  “Do you know the name of your people? The land where you’re from?” asked Arda.

  She thought again, and encountered the same roiling sea of broken voices, the fragmented memories of a thousand people. No, not there, she told herself, pulling away from their shared memories of the Green Dragon. And the Black. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with a sense of loss and a single, shining, gossamer tear fell from her luminescent eye. “I don’t know,” she trembled. “I fell from light. I think it’s gone now. My land, my people.”

  Hylda frowned. “It can’t be coincidence. Look at her, shining eyes, those red markings. She must be from the Otherworld. She is one of the Fae!”

  “I’m not so sure,” Attaris mused. “I’ve seen one from the Fae Court once. She reminds me more of ancient descriptions of the light elves from before the First Age. We should take her to the city. The duke should be made aware. And the wizards, too.”

  “I don’t trust covens,” Arda said. “The duke puts too much stock in their counsel.”

  “Well, we don’t have much choice in the matter,” Hylda interjected. “I don’t think much of them either, but they’ve been true to Windbowl. Like it or not, they are the heart of our security. In a sense, it’s because of them that we have a safe haven from Artalon and the Shadowlord.”

  The elf soaked up every word. The name Windbowl felt vaguely familiar, but Artalon and the Shadowlord—Aaron, the Champion—were strong in her mind. The memories in her head were from another place, far away from all of this. The Shadowlord must have been immensely significant to touch all of the disparate strands of memory within her. She suddenly grasped the full implication of her thoughts. They were not her memories. These were the memories of a dead people.

  No.

  A dead world.

  The elf moaned in horror and another chill ran through her, to the depths of her belly. The other three stopped talking and looked at her.

  “What is it, lass?” Attaris asked.

  “Who am I? What am I?”

  * * *

  Anuit leaned against the cold rock of the watchtower’s outside wall. Marta had proposed that the covens help. Both coven leaders and the city council agreed, and so Anuit had spent the last two nights in the cold standing watch with the guards at the eastern border checkpoint. She took short naps during the day and watched when she could, but the guard captain wanted her ready at night in case an enemy decided to take advantage of the cover of darkness. Not having had more than two hours of sleep at a time, she felt exhausted.

  It was beyond cold at night, but the magic of her woven shirt and wrapped leggings kept her warm enough. At the edge of the tower door’s light, beneath an ice-capped tree, she could make out the vague form of her shadow knight. The demon of the Void had only the faintest semblance of a muscular human shrouded in smoke, with the barest hint of arms and legs; otherwise, he was just a floating fissure in the fabric of reality.

  She was decidedly not enjoying her time here. It was clear that the guards didn’t trust her. She guessed she couldn’t blame them. They had never seen an actual demon before. When they first saw Thoknos, they were almost as scared of her as the Artalonians were supposed to be. Well, that was quite fine by her, if it meant they would leave her alone.

  Thoknos just floated there, existing. She wondered what he thought, or even if he thought. He was not at all like Belham. The imp had personality, and she could read a lot of what he thought on his crafty, little face. Eventually she would learn to summon and bind an incubus, who from all accounts would have even more personality. Thoknos, however, had no face to read. The few times he did speak, with that cold voice echoing in cascading whispers from the Void, there was no variation in tone.

  She sighed. She understood the importance of keeping the watch, and she was as anxious as the next person about the implications of the apparent Imperial withdrawal. The long hours spent watching the bridge over the dark chasm between them and Artalon created an awful mix of tension and boredom. She supposed that an Artalonian withdrawal could be a good thing. It would be nice not to have to be on constant watch against invasion. Maybe the Empire was shrinking, or maybe the God-King decided to open his borders and allow his people new freedoms. But, as Belham had once said, never trust a good deed. Besides, even if such a thing could be good for Windbowl, it wouldn’t be good for her and her adopted family.

  She shuddered as this new realization hit her—the covens needed the threat of Artalon. Windbowl had no use for sorcerers if peace and free trade were allowed to flourish. Without Artalon, the old hatreds would return and the duchy would drive sorcerers away, forgetful of the fact that it was sorcery that had kept them safe for so long. She frowned as she contemplated what the duke might do. She really did not know. Suspicion and worry clutched at her heart. Almost out of habit now, she whispered the eldritch words of the pact. A cloud of smoke coalesced and Belham appeared. The scent of burnt ash tickled her nose and she sneezed.

  The little imp stood no more than thirteen inches tall. He wore the shape of a hairless, nude human man, with the perfectly sculpted physique of an athlete. His skin was a flawless shade of dark blue, and if he closed his softly glowing yellow eyes and stood still, he could pass for a lapis figurine. Two tiny horns adorned his forehead, interrupting an otherwise smooth skull, and bat-like wings of the same midnight hue sprouted from behind his shoulders. He hovered in front of her at eye level, wings outstretched. The wings seemed more decorative than functional, as he obviously levitated by magic—rather than flapping furiously to keep him in place, they extended motionlessly into the space beside him.

  “You are troubled, mistress,” he said, concern in his voice and eyes. His voice resonated deeply for all his small size. He crossed his arms calmly over his chest.

  “I am,” she said. She gazed at him steadily. She was smart enough to know that she must not reveal too much of her inner feelings to one of her demons lest they be twisted against her. As long as she didn’t give them a tool to manipulate, she remained in control. Of course, she had also been taught not to use her demons as confidants, but Belham had never sought to undermine her authority. Some demons appreciated what the pacts gave them. It was in their best interests to serve their masters loyally in return for the gift of manifestation.

  “You control yourself well for one so troubled,” he praised her. “Don’t sell yourself short. Seredith is no more talented than you. Less, I suspect.”

  She swelled inside with pride at his approval. He took a deep breath and beamed at her.

  “I need to accelerate my training,” she said.

  “That could be dangerous,” he cautioned. “I’m sure Marta is training you in the most effective way, the quickest and safest possible.”

  “I need to learn more. I can handle it. Artalon withdraws.”

  “Ah,” he said in understanding. “You need power to defend yourself.”

  “Yes.”

  “Either from Artalon should they invade, or from the people of Windbowl if they turn on you,” he spelled it out.

  “Yes!” She knew he would understand. Finally, she could advance beyond Seredith.

  Belham nodded. “I will do this for you.”

  “Who goes there?” one of the guards yelled aloud to the night. Anuit nearly jumped out of her skin, tripping in surprise. Light could be seen on the far side of the bridge, and she hadn’t been paying attention.

  The guard captain, a human, exited the watch room, torch in hand, and shot her a venomous glance that said, Weren’t you watching?

  She returned his look. Weren’t you? She followed beside him and willed her shadow k
night forward. Belham vanished.

  The guard captain stopped at the edge of the bridge and raised his torch. Again he shouted, “Who goes there?”

  Five trolls emerged from the shadows at the far end of the bridge, lithe of form and moving with graceful fluidity. Their large diagonal eyes gazed at the two humans. Anuit could not read their intent in their stoic faces, but she knew them by reputation: enemies of all civilized races. They were supposed to be far away, buffered by the might of the Empire.

  The captain trembled. “Oh gods, trolls! How did they get here?”

  His lieutenant joined him, flanked by two other guards. The lieutenant was a great green orc, with broad shoulders underneath heavy armor. He stared across the bridge unflappably. “Get your shit together, Captain. They are just trolls.”

  Two of the trolls wore long coats and wide-brimmed hats, hands resting casually over pistol holsters. Two were hatless, their blue faces topped by bushy green hair. They held leather braids in their hands, from which hung glowing, runed beads. The one in the middle stood taller than the others, with green-furred skin and a mohawk of deep crimson. His nose and cheeks held white patches of short fur contrasting with the green, and his face held an air of beneficent serenity. His catlike lips curved in a slight smile as he called out in a smoothly textured voice, “I would speak with your duke. Will you grant safe passage?”

  “Where are the Artalonian guards?” Anuit called out. Her shadow knight floated silently beside her.

  “Artalon is dying,” the troll responded. “The guards have abandoned their posts and the roads are clear. Our intentions are peaceful, and I have business with your duke. Will you allow safe passage?”

  Artalon is dying? Anuit thought in alarm. Whatever he had to say, the duke would want to hear it, and so did she. She nodded to the troll. “We will escort you.”

  The captain whirled at her, screaming. “Are you mad? They killed the Artalonians! Oh gods, they’re going to kill us, too! Attack! Use your gods-damned demon and attack!” He turned to his troops with panicked spittle on his lips. “Damn you all, attack!”

  The orc lieutenant hesitated, uncertain of what to do. The captain’s face contorted in fear and rage. He drew his pistol and shot at the red-headed troll leader. He missed, and before he could get a second shot off, the two troll gunmen drew and fired three shots each, all six hitting their mark, four in the chest and two in the face. The captain’s body flew back from the impact on his chest plate, which might have saved him were it not for the holes through the back of his head.

  The orc bellowed. He drew a short rifle with his right hand and a two-headed ax in his left and charged. The other two guards followed, each drawing their weapons.

  The troll gunmen fired again. The orc deflected most of their shots with his wide ax blades, grunting in pain when a few met their target. They didn’t slow him. He fired his rifle into the gut of one of the gunmen and swung widely with his ax at the other. The second troll jumped back out of reach, narrowly missing the curved blade. The first was not so lucky, and fell to the ground dead in a spreading pool of his own blood.

  The red-haired troll smiled wider and fluidly shapeshifted into a raptor with great curved claws from his feet. His dinosaur head seemed to retain that same serene grin. His scaly hide was a bright blue with yellow stripes down his back, and a series of short orange feathers touched the underside of his chin and the crown on his head between his eyes.

  He leaped forward with impossible speed and crushed the orc’s head with his jaws, opening the man’s gut with his claws. He flung the orc to the side over the bridge. With two more swipes, the two other men went down, spilling a slick dark red over the stone bridge. The raptor’s eyes gleamed, and he crouched low, staring at Anuit. His throat let out a low snarl, underlined by a series of guttural chirps.

  She panicked and screamed. In response to her loss of control, the shadow knight surged forward, intent on devouring the raptor. The brightly colored creature slunk back and vanished into the shadows.

  The trolls with the dangling runes stepped forward to confront the dark creature of the Void. Their beads flashed a bright light, lashing out at the demon. Anuit screamed again, this time in pain as she felt the searing fire through her link to Thoknos. The demon of the Void thrashed beneath the light, trying to devour the runic fire. He was not strong enough, and in a matter of seconds the divine magic tore him to shreds, rending him into un-being. A tearing pain wrenched through her chest as the thing died, as if they had destroyed a part of her own soul.

  The red-headed troll, now no longer the dinosaur, stepped out of the darkness behind her. The thin yellow rings in his large eyes glistened around the depths of wide pupils, betraying emotion beneath the otherwise serene face. “Enough death! Take one of your horses and tell your duke that we are coming to see him.”

  Anuit saw in the shadows past the light that these trolls were not alone. There were dozens more. She turned and ran before he changed his mind.

  4 - Batten the Hatches

  The next morning, the light elf remained with Attaris as Hylda and Arda departed for Windbowl to procure her some clothing. She knew they had been embarrassed the night before when she let the wool blanket fall, so she now wore it wrapped around her body, tied at the waist with a short, narrow rope. It scratched at her hips and shoulders.

  Attaris busied himself with tending the hearth fire, preparing a pot of slow-cooked stew to simmer for the day, and then went to his workshop to cut gems into jewels. She followed and watched for a bit, curious at first as his fingers and tools set to work at releasing the stones’ hidden beauty. The gems glittered as their facets took shape, seeming to reveal an inner light. But their brilliance was only an illusion, and she fixated on the fact that they captured stolen light from outside while presenting it as their own. She soon lost interest in the repetitive work and instead looked outside the window to the source of the light. She wanted to be out under the open sky.

  “I will be outside,” she informed him.

  He looked up from his work. “As you like, but don’t go too far. If you need me, call and I’ll come running.”

  She smiled. He seemed to trust her and care for her well being, even though she herself didn’t know who she was or what she was capable of.

  She left him to his work and stepped out into the crisp, cold air. The morning sun was high enough to fill the garden courtyard with golden light that sparkled off the snowy caps on the stone walls and trees. The flagstones on the path had been melted clear by the sun’s warmth, but between them, round ridges of white powder remained. Despite the sun, the flagstones bit cold under the soles of her bare feet. Nevertheless, she smiled, feeling a thrill as she touched the earth. The stones felt warmer with every step.

  She walked to the center of the garden and gasped, overcome by beauty. There, in that very spot, at that precise moment, a ring of icicles captured the sun and coalesced the light onto her. Brilliance sparkled everywhere she looked, and she stood transfixed in dazzlement. She responded to that moment with a surge of awe, and the broken voices in her mind stilled in enchanted silence. A pathway opened within her and she became a conduit that channeled rushing sunlight down through the flat stones and into the earth. She untied the rope from her waist and dropped the woolen blanket, wanting to feel the crisp air with no barrier between her and the raw nature around her. She inhaled deeply, red-striped body clad only by the sky.

  She felt the response of the earth surge through her upwards to meet the light. The world’s currents intertwined with the sun’s rays, vitalizing her connection to the power of Life. The energy play cascaded delightfully within her and tickled her heart. The warmth filled her with pleasure, and she laughed clearly and fully, taking joy in the knowledge of being alive.

  She heard the workshop door open behind her. Attaris gasped, “By the Storm Lord’s beard!”

  She turned and beamed at him. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she laughed.

  “Aye, you f
ill me with wonder,” he said in a hushed awe. “Wonder indeed.”

  She then noticed what had caught Attaris’ breath. The flagstones on which she had walked were now covered in green. With each subsequent step she had taken, the foliage had grown more dense and lush, from thick moss to clovers to flower-filled grass. A full garden had sprung up around where she now stood as if it were the height of summer, with flowered vines waist high and continuing to grow as she watched. The greenery crept out and carpeted the frozen garden, melting and absorbing the ice as it went, until it touched and climbed to crown the top of the stone walls in leafy luxury.

  “I don’t think you’re cursed,” the dwarven runewarden said. “Blessed is more like it.” Then he added, “And sometimes, that’s worse.”

  * * *

  Anuit paced the tiny living room while Seredith sat calmly in an upholstered reading chair. They awaited Marta’s return from delivering Anuit’s news to the duke. The room was comfortably furnished, with the chair and a matching loveseat next to a large window. The walls were white plaster, with brass candle sconces supporting pairs of unlit candles.

  “You’re going to wear a hole in the rug,” Seredith remarked.

  Anuit clasped her fingers together tightly, pulling at her knuckles. “What do you think they will do to me?”

  “Nothing, I hope,” Seredith arched a blond eyebrow. “Compose yourself before Mother returns!”

  Anuit stopped, closed her eyes, and forced herself to take her friend’s advice. Untamed anxiety would be seen as a lack of control, a liability when commanding demons.

  Seredith continued, “The city will prepare defenses until we know the nature of the threat. Worst case, we endure a siege, for which we’ve prepared for centuries. Most likely, these trolls won’t stand up to Captain Kaern’s guards and rangers. They’ll be put down like common bandits.”