When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “Strange ways?” Aradma liked the wine. She felt warmer for it, and she welcomed the conversation.

  Yinkle whistled. “You have no idea what you’re in for, do you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They have… rules. Their religion is important to them.”

  “You mean druidry?”

  “No. Well, kind of. It’s not that simple. It’s part of it. But their Matriarchs are not druids. Druids stand apart from their religion, even as they support it. You will see.”

  “You’re very smart,” Aradma said. She felt giddy.

  “For a rat?” Yinkle grinned. At least, Aradma thought she grinned.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” Yinkle playfully poked Aradma’s tummy. “We believe there is power in learning, in a sharp mind, no matter what profession our path leads us to.”

  “Do you have gods?”

  “There are gods, certainly. But we owe allegiance to none. We prefer to rely on ourselves and our reason.”

  “But your uncle?”

  “His reason has led him to the gods, but that is his choice. Like all of us, he doesn’t believe in forcing anyone else to them.”

  “You said he wanted to sell the old ways to humans.”

  “Oh, he won’t need to force anyone,” Yinkle’s eyes glittered mischievously. “People will be begging for answers when they find out their God-King died.”

  The crew was in good cheer, and Aradma much preferred their company. Their warm banter included her, and they all drank together throughout the evening. The ratlings were packed in close, and they did not worry about such concepts as personal space—sometimes crawling over her lap to get at another drink or bread bowl. They made fun of her thick cotton gown.

  “You know where you’re going, right?” one of the men said in a gruff, cheerful voice. “February on Vemnai is not February in Windbowl. We’re headed back to the land of perpetual summer. You’ll be sweaty and miserable dressed like that. Pass the port, please.”

  It took five of them to carry Aradma back to her room that night. Her head spun from the wine, and she felt numb, warm, and close to these little, furry people. And a little sick to her stomach. Yinkle tucked her in, helping her out of her gown down to her undergarments and wrapping her in thin blankets to keep her shoulders warm while she slept.

  “One thing you must remember,” Yinkle slurred as she tucked the elf in. “I have seen the way they look at you. Their men will want you, but it is their women who rule, and you are not one of them. Should you ever need anything, find me or Uncle Raj in Kallanista.”

  After the first day, they turned and followed Elfwater Sea southeast on a straight course towards Vemnai. They flew outside the outer edge of Artalon, skirting the southwestern shores of the Northern Wilds. The sun warmed with every hour, and it was not long after morning before Aradma ventured onto the open deck beneath the oblong red and green zeppelin balloon, catching her breath in excitement as wind whipped her robes tightly around her body.

  She enjoyed watching the ratling crew climb the ropes as they worked the great wing-sail masts. They had uncanny agility, and the risks they took when they jumped between lines were breathtaking.

  Odoune emerged from the lower decks and joined Aradma at the rail.

  “What do you see when you look out there?” Odoune asked, pointing to the lands below.

  She looked over the rails to the azure waters abutted by the sandy beach. To the northeast, as far as she could see, an endless deep green field of thick treetops spread to the horizon. “Beauty.”

  “Yes. The beauty of the untamed wilds. The land as Rin meant it to be when she made the world.”

  “Rin?”

  Odoune looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Yes. Rin. The mother of life itself. And the mother of the Green Dragon.”

  Aradma furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “She is a dragon?”

  “No. A goddess. It was her will that Graelyn reveal the druidic arts to the Vemnai. We trolls are Rin’s children, co-created with the moon goddess, Soorleyn.”

  Aradma frowned again. There was little in her Fae memories of such things. “There is much I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “That is why you are here,” Odoune affirmed. “You will learn the truth of our ways, and we will gather your people together. We come from Rin and Soorleyn, and the Green Dragon was Rin’s daughter. You are Graelyn’s child. We are cousins, you and I.”

  “You want to make all of my people druids?”

  “No. There will be others with different talents. But our people should be together.”

  “You want us as allies.”

  “You misunderstand. We want you as one of us. We are the Vemnai. It is my sincerest desire that we become Vemnai together.”

  Aradma thought for a moment. “Is that what your people want?”

  Odoune paused again. “We must convince the Matriarch. She is hesitant to embrace outsiders, and our people have never been friends of the sidhe. But I hope she comes to see that seelie are not sidhe, despite your elven appearance.”

  “Why do the other trolls avoid me?”

  “They too are mistrustful of elves and do not know what to make of you. And you are a woman. They are troubled that they find you desirable.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Why should that trouble them?”

  “To desire what one doesn’t know or understand can be unnerving. For a male troll to desire a female not of the Vemnai is forbidden. Do you find them beautiful?”

  She considered his words. “I hadn’t thought of it. I suppose I could.”

  He frowned. “I expected you to say no. Troll men are unappealing.”

  Aradma thought that a curious thing to say.

  He added, “It would have made things simpler for the Matriarch.”

  The airship arrived over the city of Kallanista on the morning of the third day. The ratling city was a network of wooden planks and bridges on posts of wood bolted together. Platforms held buildings, giving the city a multilayered complexity that fascinated the light elf. Spotted throughout were towers of fine carpentry, doubling as posts to hold up the major bridge intersections. Brightly colored webbed canvases stretched over wooden frames to serve as rooftops. Windmills spotted the skyline, and watermills tapped the river leading into the azure bay. Aradma noted crankshafts spinning, running up and down support posts that propped up the city, and the smell of salt and fish suffused the air.

  It took some time to maneuver their craft through the congested airspace. The sky was thick with many colored zeppelins, and the bay below even thicker with vibrant sailboats and other small craft. The brown and gray fur of ratlings darted everywhere beneath vivid cloaks of all colors.

  “Such life!” Aradma exclaimed, wiping sweat off of her brow. She leaned forward over the ship’s rail in excitement. The sun beat down upon them, the air thick with humidity. Aradma sweated profusely beneath her cotton gown. It was too hot for the wool cloak. She carried it bundled over arm.

  “You can’t go like that,” Yinkle said, popping up beside her. “Those are clothes for the cold. You’ll burn up. We need to fix that before you leave.”

  “It is very hot here,” Aradma agreed. She almost missed the biting chill of Windbowl.

  “Yeah, but it’s a wet heat!” Yinkle laughed sarcastically.

  Odoune came up beside her. “The heart of the Vemnai is deep within the jungles. The ratling ways are not our ways.”

  “He means they don’t build things,” Yinkle chuckled.

  “Only what is necessary,” he replied.

  The ship pulled into a tall tower with docks suspended high above the water. The crew collapsed the wing sails and tied the craft to the moorings quickly and efficiently. The captain gave the passengers license to depart.

  “Their task is done,” Odoune commented as he and Aradma watched the other trolls leave. “We will stay the night, and travel tomorrow morning.” He turned to the
ratling woman and crouched down to speak with her at eye level. “Yinkle, would you take our friend to one of the shop-bridges and get her some attire suitable for a proper troll woman? You know our style.”

  Yinkle squeaked. “Oh, what fun! Yes, yes!” She turned to the seelie and took her hand. “You can meet Uncle Raj, too! Stay the night with us!”

  “How can I say no?” Aradma smiled and laughed.

  Hand in hand, the tall elf followed the bouncing ratling woman down the gangplank and into the busy throng of pedestrian traffic.

  11 - Advice From an Elder Rat

  The crowds on the bridges restricted their movement to a slow walk. Most of the pedestrians were ratlings, and Aradma towered over them all, able to see and take in her surroundings. She felt a thrill of excitement from being swept up in all this bustle, and she grinned widely. Yinkle must have known where she was going, because she couldn’t possibly have seen far through the mass of rodent heads at her eye level. Amid the ratling throng, Aradma also saw a few trolls scattered here and there, noticed an occasional orc or human, and even spotted one or two gnomes before they vanished in the crowd. Ratlings eyed her with curiosity and pawed at her sweaty gown as she passed them.

  Yinkle brought her to a tiny store amid a cluster of shops. Aradma had to stoop low to enter, and the ceilings inside weren’t much better than the door. An older ratling woman worked inside, sewing bolts of fabric together to make the cloaks and hats they were so fond of wearing. She squinted through thick spectacles at intricate needlework, but her speed seemed no worse for it. The brass-rimmed spectacles had layers of lenses attached to delicate gears.

  “Madame Prujia,” Yinkle hugged the older woman. “Look what I have here!”

  Prujia looked up from her work. She reached with her bony fingers to the side of her spectacles and twisted a little knob. Tiny gears rotated the three extra layers of stacked lenses away in smooth succession, leaving only the main lenses in front of her squinting black eyes. “An elf!” Prujia exclaimed and chuckled gleefully. “Oh my goodness, mercy me, you brought me an elf!”

  She slid off her tiny stool and hurried over to Aradma. Prujia took Aradma’s hair in her fingers, examining the strands. Then she stroked and gently pulled at the ears, exploring. “Just like the stories!” she exclaimed. “These long things are actually ears!”

  Aradma laughed and shrank back from the tickling fingers.

  “Oh my goodness, where are my manners?” Prujia asked. Then: “But my, she’s so… silver! This is all wrong, her hair, her skin. And what are these red lines on her arms? Tribal paint of some sort?” She rubbed Aradma’s forearms. “Not paint. Strange. Nothing like the stories.” She paused and leaned forward to examine Aradma even closer. “And she’s very wet. Why is she wearing such heavy clothes? It’s too hot for this!”

  “She’s a different kind of elf, Madame Prujia,” Yinkle explained. “And she needs your help.”

  “Oh? Business! What does she need? Clothes, I’m sure. Too hot!”

  “They’re taking her to the Matriarch.”

  “Oh!” Prujia’s voice took a serious tone. “That is a long journey, and impressions will be important. Yes, you do need some work. Grab a cushion and sit here,” she pointed to an open space on the hardwood floor.

  The old ratling drew out some long sheers with blades the length of her forearm. Aradma’s eyes widened in alarm, but Prujia just chuckled as she adjusted her spectacles, bringing down one of the layers. “Now don’t you worry… and don’t you move!”

  Before Aradma knew what had happened, her long silver hair had been chopped to uneven strands no longer than her chin. The rest of it lay at the floor in silky piles. Prujia took the piles away and stuffed them into a drawer. “I’ll weave something nice with that,” she said. “Feel better?”

  Aradma’s neck was cooler, and her head felt much lighter. “This will be better for the heat,” she agreed, happily.

  “Troll women always wear two outfits,” Prujia informed her, searching through her cabinets and drawers. She withdrew some gold and silver chains with semiprecious jewels. “They wear something like us.” She gestured to the harnesses she and Yinkle wore. “Usually a chain necklace, a belt of some sort around the waist, bracelets sometimes. Harnesses that show their rank in society. But while we stop there, they don’t have fur. So they cover their bits and pieces in animal skins, but these are never attached to the harnesses.”

  Prujia rummaged through another drawer, pulling out some green garments. “Here is the latest in troll fashion. Premium dinosaur skin. You’ll fit right in.” She held the two pieces of the outfit towards the elf, a choli and a loincloth. “Except your ears are long like a troll man. Their women have shorter ears. Pointed, but shorter. Troll women have your features, though. Eyes, nose, and mouth more like an elf, or a human. Oh, but you have smooth cheeks. They have short tusks. Not like their men’s, built for battle, but… no, I suppose you won’t fit in after all. But there’s no helping it. At least you’re pretty like them, with their pretty noses. Even if you are all skin.” Prujia shuddered. “Too bad you can’t be furred like their men! They’re so handsome. Anyway, put these on. This will give you all the modesty they require, and allow you to move easily through the trees.”

  Aradma eyed the two-piece outfit, raising her eyebrows in amusement. She imagined Attaris blushing at such revealing garb, but she agreed this would be a lot more comfortable here.

  She removed her white robe and took the new clothes in hand. The outfit was a sage-green scaled dinosaur skin, the interior leather cured soft and supple for maximum movement. The bottom was a long loincloth with a fringe of short, dark brown braids. Its front and back fell halfway between hips and knees, but there were gaps on each side revealing her red-striped hips up to the belt. Prujia helped her tie it together, forming little knots at each side. It hung low, well beneath the tops of her hips.

  She pulled the halter strap of the sleeveless dinosaur-skin choli over her neck and fastened its clasp together between her breasts. Blue beadwork adorned the green scales of the choli in whorls. Atop that she attached a single gold chain over her neck, with garnets and peridot. A similar, thicker chain belt fastened at her waist, and a dangling red jewel tickled her belly button.

  “Wonderful!” Yinkle said. “Now, let’s go meet Uncle Raj.”

  “And payment?” Prujia asked.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have money.” She moved to return the clothing.

  “No!” Yinkle exclaimed. “Credit it to Reverend Rajamin,” she told Prujia. “I’ll bill Odoune when we see him tomorrow.”

  Prujia nodded.

  Yinkle made their goodbyes and exited out into the throng of ratling covered bridges once more. Yinkle led Aradma up to a higher platform and then into one of the wooden towers. They climbed five stories up a wrapped spiral staircase that wound around the tower. At the top was a wide loft apartment with window ledges overlooking the city bridges below. Yinkle stopped and knocked on the round door.

  A ratling man opened the door almost as soon as her first knock. His furry belly rested roundly in his leather harness, and his shoulders sported a pristine white cloak. His hair was speckled with gray, and two large, floppy ears surrounded droopy eyes and a nose that perked up and down in curiosity. “Yinkle,” he said. “You’re back already!”

  She hugged him. “Uncle Raj, what an adventure. We flew deep into Artalonian territory, and the trolls found the elf. And here she is!”

  Rajamin eyed Aradma up and down. “Indeed she is. Dressed like a lady and ready for the Matriarch, no less.”

  “We were hoping to stay the night here. She leaves with Odoune tomorrow.”

  “Good man, that Odoune,” Rajamin said. “Of course you can stay. Come in.”

  He stepped aside, and Aradma followed the two of them into the apartment, ducking low through the door. Inside, the ceiling was surprisingly high, just enough that she could stand straight.

  “The price for your bed toni
ght,” Rajamin said, “is that you indulge an old man in conversation.”

  Rajamin set out a modest mid-afternoon meal of nuts, sweet bread, and fruits. He grilled Aradma about her past and the story of her arrival and departure from Windbowl.

  “So Odoune believes you to be the child of his goddess.”

  “Dragon,” corrected Aradma.

  Rajamin raised an eyebrow. “To Odoune, there is no difference. Nor to me. The Four Archdragons are indeed gods. That they are the least of the gods in the celestial hierarchy is of no practical difference to us mortals.”

  “You serve the gods, even though your people do not,” probed the seelie woman.

  “Geala, to be precise,” Rajamin said. “Lady of the Seas, but more importantly, of Trade. If my people were more religious, she would be their favorite, I’m sure of it. At any rate, I find our relationship profitable. The gods reward their faithful with power.”

  “And in Artalon?”

  “Thtuh!” Rajamin spit. “The Shadowlord stamped out the worship of all gods but Karanos. As powerful as his priests are, people have need of many gods. Each god is a facet of divinity, and existence is a rich jewel. Serving a god is as much about knowledge, wisdom—insight—as it is about power. I may be dedicated to a single matron, but I honor them all.”

  “What do you know about Rin?”

  “Ah yes, the goddess of the Vemnai. She is a strange one, that Rin. She opposes everything that Athra, the Lady of Civilization, stands for. In the pantheon, she and Athra balance each other, but the Vemnai have no such balance in their ways. Rin is the untamed wilds. She embraced only three other gods. With Voldun, God of War, she created the orcs. With Soorleyn, the Lady of the Moon, she created trolls.”

  “She had children by another woman?”

  “They are goddesses,” Rajamin pointed out, “not women. They wear the bodies of women from time to time, but they are spirits and not bound by our physical concepts of male and female. But yes, the Vemnai believe that these two goddesses made love as women, and the first trolls were their children. The central mystery of their belief is one divine womb in two goddesses. Thus, women rule their society as being made in their image and the men serve.”