Shouts rang out around her. The old crone.
She craned her head around, eyes widening at the sight. Four demons tore at each other. The incubus who had charmed her before now fought for his life as a succubus sliced flesh from his bone with a bladed parasol. The warrior demon, Macthogos, fought against what could only be described as an abomination, a thatch of savagely grinning teeth with a body behind it whose only purpose was to animate those teeth and devour anything in its path.
One of Marta’s students, the dusky skinned girl with black hair, stood in the doorway and hurled dark energy at the crone. For a moment it looked like Marta would triumph when thousands of obsidian-black daggers appeared in barrages and slammed themselves onto the younger woman’s eldritch shields.
Aradma saw Seredith’s spectral form floating in the room and begin to sink towards the dead body by the twisted power of her own blood, which she could feel in the corpse. She tried to reach out to it with her healing instincts, but it was twisted and cursed. She reeled in nausea when her mind touched it and vomited into the cauldron.
The dark-skinned girl unleashed a pure black stream of energy, and the crone fell back. She tried to block it at first, but the young woman’s attack was too furious. The crone’s shields buckled, and she fell to her knees. The second dark beam punched through Marta’s defenses and engulfed her body. The old woman shuddered and clutched her arms as if suddenly cold, and inky smoke rose from her mouth, nose, and eyes. Aradma saw the life force in the old woman dissolve back into the universe. Marta gasped and crumpled to the ground. Her body withered to desiccation until she was nothing more than a dried husk.
The young sorceress stepped over the body, taking a moment to look down. Her eyes flashed triumphantly, and she then turned to the elf. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then the woman ran to Seredith’s side. She placed her hand on the naked woman’s arm, gently shaking her.
“Seredith. Seredith, it’s me. Wake up.”
The sorceress placed her ear on Seredith’s chest, listening. She sobbed, “Oh no…”
Then she bolted up, taking two steps back from the table as Seredith sat up. The dead girl had an unnatural pallor and her lips had turned bluish gray. She stared at the two of them with sightless, unfocused eyes, then turned her gaze to the sorceress and drew in a breath. On the exhale, she intoned, “Anuit… what have you done to me?”
The dark-skinned sorceress shrank back in horror. She looked back and forth between Seredith and Aradma indecisively before she fled, her demons vanishing in three puffs of smoke.
The two were alone in the room now. Seredith rose from the table and walked over to the hanging elf.
“It was your blood that did this to me,” Seredith said in a cracking voice. “But this is not your doing. My mother betrayed me.”
“I tried to save you,” Aradma said. “I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”
Seredith stared into Aradma’s upside-down eyes. This close, Aradma could see a faint yellow luminescence beneath the unfocused gaze.
Seredith nodded. “I seem to have command over my body but it’s clumsy. I think I can get you down.”
Seredith untied Aradma and helped her down, avoiding the steaming cauldron. Aradma tried to stand, but her knees wobbled and she sank to the floor.
“I will carry you,” Seredith said.
“Your clothes,” Aradma said. Such things were important to people here. “Don’t you want—?”
“It doesn’t really matter now,” Seredith interjected. “Besides, they were cut open.” She lifted Aradma up in her dead arms and walked out of the room into the dark corridors.
* * *
Seredith carried Aradma towards the center of Windbowl, intending to take her back to the castle. She opened the door to the streets but stopped in the shadows. Wolven battled sorcerers and their demons in the open city. Howls and screams filled the night shadows. The clouds hid the lupine silhouettes from the moon as they ran by, only their snarling in the lust of the Hunt and a swift rush of air telling of their presence. Street lamps were shattered and now dark, but the orange glow of sorcerer’s hellfire flashed every now and again.
“The Howl of the Hunt has been called,” Seredith whispered to the elf. “No sorcerer will survive the night. This blood is on my mother’s hands.”
She pulled the door closed and retreated back into the dark tunnel. “No one is safe on the streets right now. The only thing we can do is wait it out.”
“Can you get me outside the city?”
“Yes. Marta made us memorize these tunnels. There is a path to a cave in the forest.”
“Please.”
Seredith nodded. Her dead body did not tire as it had in life, and carrying the elf took little effort. She turned and headed back towards the caverns that would take them to the forest.
9 - Beginnings
The clouds parted the next morning, spilling crisp sunlight onto the cold fields outside Windbowl’s gates. The trolls stood there once more, two scores of them, patiently waiting for the duke’s response. This time, however, a fleet of seven ratling dirigibles filled the skies overhead. Their wooden bodies, reminiscent of traditional sea ships, sported four cannons on the front and sides. Above the bodies were massive zeppelins in place of sails, brightly colored and filled with a light gaseous concoction known only to ratling alchemists. Their sides sprouted horizontal masts at different angles with sails stretched to give the appearance of wings or webbed, scooped legs grasping at sky wind streams. Each side had three such masts: a horizontal one, one which swept forty-five degrees down, and one which jutted down vertically from the side of the craft’s body.
Duke Montevin walked out in human form with Aiella at his side to meet the troll. He limped, and dried blood caked his skin. She had ash and burn marks on her face.
“Much violence happened here last night,” Odoune stated as they approached. “Yet my request remains the same. Where is the elf? I hope for your sake she has come to no harm.”
Aiella raised an eyebrow. “You know she’s a woman.”
The duke stared evenly at Odoune. “It no longer matters. She is gone. Leave us in peace.”
“There is no need for threats, master troll,” Aradma said. They whirled to see her approach from the forest, leaning on Seredith for support. “Two nights ago, you asked my name. I am Aradma. Your druidic arts were taught to your ancestors by the mother of my being. I will go with you to learn your ways.”
The duke frowned. “You stand with this woman,” he pointed at the naked girl. “Yet it is she and her mother who stabbed and kidnapped you.”
“She is innocent in this,” Aradma said. “She has paid a great price, both she and the other apprentice. They broke from the crone’s will, but I know not where the other has fled. For Seredith’s part, I ask you take her and look after her.”
“She is undead. A revenant,” Aiella spat. “She should be destroyed.”
“No,” the duke overturned her, “the elf is wise. If she is a revenant, her spirit is still the same. I know what it is to live with a curse.” He removed his coat and covered Seredith’s body. “Do you forsake the ways of sorcery?”
“I do,” Seredith said in her low, cracked voice. “Such power is cut off from me now, in any case, and I have seen the price it exacts.”
“Aiella and I will attempt to find a cure for your condition and restore you to natural life.”
Seredith nodded. “I would learn the art of wizardry, if you would teach me. Its magic is clean of the taint of sorcery, and it will give me purpose. I wish to help find the cure.”
The duke nodded. “I understand. We’ll discuss it further.”
Odoune looked darkly at them. “It angers me greatly to see her so wounded and bleeding, but I have no taste for more bloodshed.” He laid his hand on Aradma’s forehead. Green light welled from the ground, moving through her to his outstretched palm. Her wounds closed and she stood straight.
“Thank you,” she
said. “Your gift is welcome.”
“Come then,” he said. “It is a long journey to Vemnai.”
He signaled one of the vessels overhead, and a small craft descended, piloted by a ratling airman. The pilot’s dark rodent eyes glittered as his gaze darted back and forth between them, but his furry face showed no expression as the trolls and the elf stepped on board. The small craft floated up and entered the larger vessel, and the fleet turned to the east and sailed away from Windbowl.
* * *
Attaris watched Aradma depart with the ratling airships from the cover of trees. “All for nothing then,” he said bitterly. “At least she survived. I feared she might be dead.”
Arda stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest. “Do you know what ‘Aradma’ means?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. Old Draconic?”
“Yes. ‘Heart of the Dragon.’”
“What will you do now?”
“By her own choice, she is beyond our reach. I will turn my efforts to finding Kaldor. Our Order has been too long without clear leadership, and the fall of the Shadowlord and the sundering of the Otherworld warrants finding Taer Iriliandrel. Given her connection to the Archdragons, I think he should be made aware of her.”
“Are you sure he’s still alive?”
“He’s the incarnation of the Archdragon Archurion. He’s still alive. Will you come with me?”
Attaris understood his friend’s need for answers, but the quest was a long shot. The thought of travel made his bones ache. Arda was a friend, but she was more than capable.
“I’m going to stay here. Windbowl will need to heal. With the sorcerers gone, there is a power vacuum, and the people will worry that the wolven are out of control. And I know just the dwarf who can help heal this city.”
“You’re not speaking of yourself,” Arda raised an eyebrow.
“Hylda’s going to need my help,” he grinned. “Besides, what better thing for the city than for the noble Kaldorites to become public? It will help restore order, ease the people’s minds. With the Empire crumbling, there’s no reason for them to remain in hiding.”
“But not because she’s beautiful.”
“Aye. Well. What?” Attaris stammered and blushed.
“You’re breaking my heart,” Arda quipped. “I thought you carried a torch for me.”
“Well, we traveled together, but I mean—”
Arda laughed, her dark eyes glittering. “Attaris, you wooly bearded fool. Go be with that radiant dwarf. I’m sure she could use the help. And a friend.”
“Aye, that I will,” he beamed. “That I will.”
* * *
Anuit stood at the same border control post where she had lost Thoknos only a few nights before. She stood alone, refusing the presence of her demonic company. She wrapped herself tightly in a leather cloak against the wind, despite the fact that her magically woven gown kept the winter cold at bay. The chill she felt was in her soul.
Ahead of her was the abandoned outpost of Artalon. What had finally happened to the guards, none could say. She guessed they just… walked away.
She knew she couldn’t stay in Windbowl anymore. It wasn’t safe for any sorcerer now, but it was more than that. She couldn’t face what she had done to Seredith.
None of that mattered now. She was alone. That life was behind her, and with her newfound power, she had the strength to survive. She felt neither sadness nor guilt as she walked across the bridge into the Artalonian Empire.
Most importantly, she didn’t feel fear.
PART 2: THE GREAT RITE
10 - South to the Summerland
The ratling ships sailed high through Artalonian skies, passing over miles of Imperial territory. The dirigibles traveled at an unfathomable rate, passing fifty miles every hour. A journey that would take months by foot could be done in just over two days. They flew due east over the northern reaches of Astia, circumnavigating the heart of the Artalonian Empire.
The air rushed over the decks in a piercing, sun-filled cold. Except for Odoune, the trolls did not seem comfortable with Aradma, dropping from conversation to silence whenever she approached. She spent most of her time belowdecks in her quarters, watching the miles pass beneath her through a small, circular window beside her bunk.
“So you like the view,” a voice squeaked behind her.
She turned and saw one of the ratling crew leaning casually against the frame of the open door. The ratling stood three feet tall, and while her body was humanoid, she was completely covered in mousy brown fur. She had the head and face of a rat, although, as a female, she had slightly rounder cheeks and a shorter nose than the men. Her body was skinnier as well, and she wore only a simple cape.
“I like it, too,” the ratling said. “The view is why I got into sailing these things in the first place, even though Rajamin thinks it’s a waste of my time. The name’s Yinkle, by the way. The captain asked me to check on you and see if you need anything.”
“No, I’m fine,” Aradma said. “But thank you. Who is Rajamin?”
“Oh, he’s my uncle. He thinks he’s going to make a fortune selling the Old Gods back to humanity.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“When the Church crumbles. It will you know, with the Empire falling and all. The Church is bound to follow, and when it does there will be hundreds…” She paused and considered. “No, hundreds of hundreds of people who will be clambering to worship the Old Gods. Except they don’t remember how, you see. Uncle Raj does, and he’s going to tell it to them! I mean, sell it to them.”
“That seems a little—”
“Unfair? Well, how do you think we feel being boxed into one little island for a thousand years? Payback is due, that’s what he says. And that’s what I say.”
“So why aren’t you helping him? Why are you here?”
“Well really, you don’t listen, do you? That’s okay, they said you were a little strange. I mean, don’t you see the view?”
That evening, Aradma grew hungry, so she ventured out of her quarters into the polished, wooden hallways and found her way to the guest mess. Odoune sat at the head of one of the tables, and his warriors sat beside him. They mumbled among themselves, sometimes laughing as they dined. They kept their voices hushed for the most part, enjoying but not overindulging, in their drink.
Odoune watched his men quietly. He did not partake in their conversation. When Aradma entered the hall, he looked up and met her eyes. The others did not see her at first, but one by one they too made eye contact and their conversation died.
Aradma saw sadness in Odoune’s eyes at the reaction of his brethren. His men shifted down and opened a seat to his right. Odoune moved into that seat and left the head of the table empty. “We would be honored for you to sit with us,” he invited with an open hand.
She moved to the head of the table with poise and grace, and sat at his side. The ratling staff brought her a fresh plate with bread, slow-cooked lamb ribs slathered in a sweet-smelling sauce, and a mug of soup on the side. Beside her plate the waiter placed a silver spoon, fork, and knife. She thanked the ratling, and then looked down at the faces of the troll men all staring at her. They silently chewed their food, eating the meat straight from the bone.
She took their cue and eschewed the silverware, taking the meat in her hand and pulling a rib from its brothers. She sunk her teeth into the succulent flesh. Pleasure filled her mouth, and the sauced lamb slid down her throat with satisfying warmth. She closed her eyes in enjoyment for a moment, and then bit into the food again.
The men seemed shocked by her forward display of enjoyment, and some stopped their dining.
“Chalim,” Odoune addressed his companions, “do not be alarmed. Her ways are not yet our ways. You must allow some… flexibility in your expectations.”
One by one they nodded and proceeded again to eat.
“You will have to forgive us,” Odoune said. “We are not accustomed to dining with women present.”
Aradma gathered her plate. She had no wish to intrude against their nature. “Then I will trouble your men no more and will eat in my room.”
She left the mess behind.
Yinkle found her outside her room. “I overheard,” the ratling woman said. She reached her furry hand up and took Aradma’s elbow. “Come with me. Do not eat alone.”
The ratling staff ate in the galley mess. They kept a clean ship and served quality food. They readily made space for her at the crowded table, the furry rodents sitting elbow to elbow and meticulously cleaning off lamb ribs with their teeth.
Yinkle plopped beside her with a bowl full of bread, dipping sauce, and two deep goblets holding dark red wine.
“Scuttlebutt is that you came freely,” Yinkle started after a long draught of the wine.
Aradma took a swallow from her goblet, warmth spreading through her core. “I did.”
“You know trolls well then?”
“Not at all. Are you from Vemnai?”
Yinkle’s nose twitched. “We’re on the island of Vemnai, but we are not of the Vemnai. The Vemnai insist on living in their swamps and jungles. We enjoy finer living in our city, Kallanista.”
“How is it that you have escaped the rule of Artalon after so many years?”
“Vemnai has always been outside the concerns of humans. They fear the deep jungle and are just as happy with us ratlings keeping to ourselves. Besides, we’re really not inclined to faith.”
“So Kallanista is not a troll city,” Aradma replied beneath full bits of lamb. “You are friends with the trolls?”
“No, Kallanista is ours,” Yinkle confirmed. “It was founded by gnomes long ago, but we have had it for centuries. As for the trolls, we have little in common. But they pay well. They don’t want to live on the coast, we don’t want to live in swamps or trees. We provide them mobility and goods and they pay. They may have strange ways, but they are honest in their dealings and seem to have a lot of gold.”
When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set Page 10