When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  The ground level was cluttered with tents and makeshift shacks for those coming to Artalon who did not have the connections to get housing inside the towers. Instead of the ancient parks and gardens, the streets housed slums, and earned the name of Dirt City. This was Artalon’s underbelly, and the Church did not care to interfere with them as long as the people there observed their daily prayers at the prescribed times. And, while Dirt City too was predominantly human, it housed Artalon’s non-human population that came to be there by circumstance or opportunity. The main avenues to the city center that touched upon the upscale towers were well patrolled by officers ensuring that Imperial order was kept. These streets were used by Templar forces, merchants, and other notable officials, and were kept clear of riffraff.

  Jorey worked on the eighteenth-level terrace community of Oakstone Tower, eight hundred and ten feet above ground on one of the quarter-mile tall skyscrapers halfway between the palace and the city’s outer ring. He and his wife, Magda, ran a bakery, serving breakfast and lunch to the other members of his parish.

  His daily routine began at four in the morning, and by half-past they were hard at work preparing rolls and scones for breakfast and rolling the sourdough baguettes for lunchtime sandwiches. The ovens were lit with instant heat provided by runic magic, and breakfast sweet rolls would be ready, hot and sticky with sugared icing, for the morning rush. By this time, his children, Arlen and Keira, were awake and helping.

  At seven, the morning prayer chimes sounded over the city, and his family stopped working to say their prescribed prayers together before they opened their doors to the morning workers’ shift break at seven-thirty. “… it is the duty of every Artalonian to pray.”

  Magda and the children served the food while Jorey manned the oven, baking the daily breads. The morning crew was gone, and the shop aroma transitioned from sweet to savory just in time for lunch.

  After lunch, the prayer chime sounded again. His shop closed for the day and they said their afternoon prayers together. “… we give thanks to the risen Karanos, who has resurrected Himself in his God-King, Aaron, blessed be His name; we give thanks that we know the light of His living presence, He who shields us from the evil of the Black Dragon.”

  The rest of the day, they prepared the dough for the next morning and cleaned, stopping to eat dinner as a family, followed by answering the chimes of the evening call to prayer. “… we offer the fruits of today’s work to Karanos and His people, and give thanks for Karanos’ grace that we live in the light of Artalon, and offer tomorrow’s work for His glory.”

  At midnight, the final chimes of the day sounded, and they performed their nighttime prayer duties—”… may Lord Aaron—blessed be His name—watch over us in our sleep and protect us from the evil one.”—and then went to bed, retiring to their apartment on the second floor over the bakery.

  It was a good life. He was fortunate enough to live on a terrace, open to the air and sky. Jorey sometimes wished he could travel away from the city, or at least to another tower, but he knew his duty was here, to serve the parish workers and pray with his family. It was important that each citizen pray together at the same appointed times, celebrating the sun’s stations of morning, noon, evening, and midnight.

  He was grateful. He had two children by Magda. Each new baby guaranteed twenty years of raising them in the faith, twenty years of family life. Once their youngest was old enough to have children of her own, one of them would take over the business, and Jorey’s marriage would be dissolved by the Church. He would be sent to the monastery at the top of Oakstone Tower, just beneath the sidhe levels. His wife, if she were still able to bear children, would be given another mate; otherwise she too went up to the convent. After that, his daily life would consist of perpetual prayers and meditations on how wonderful it was to live in the world after Karanos’ resurrection.

  It’s not that he didn’t like praying, nor did he want to shirk his duty. But he loved being a dad. Even if his wife didn’t return his passion, his children made up for everything. She still came to his bed because another child would mean they started the twenty-year clock again before retiring to unending prayer. The contemplative life in one’s twilight years was the price for living in paradise.

  Everything good in their lives had come from Karanos. The God-King granted divine runes to all of his followers, giving them tangible comfort for their faith. Anyone could turn on a rune-lamp with a simple prayer to him. Rune-engraved disks served as heating elements in ovens and stoves, fueled by the power of their faith. When their population grew beyond what the gnomish water distribution system could handle, they supplemented it with runic-powered water pipes.

  The most powerful runic magic was limited to Templars and priests. Rune-disks nullified the effects of gravity, allowing air skiffs to fly and freight elevator lifts to bring supplies to the upper levels of the towers. Engraved and polished stone spheres mounted on poles provided street lighting at night. The twinkling nighttime skyline of the city gave rise to the saying, “Artalon is Karanos’ light!”

  “Dad, I don’t feel so well,” Arlen said. He had recently turned thirteen. Seven years to go before a wife would be assigned to him.

  “Do you need to lie down?” Jorey asked.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, well let me know if you do.” Jorey ruffled Arlen’s hair and then returned to work. He touched his stove and uttered a quick prayer. The runestones in the back of the oven came to life, heating the bricks to be ready for bread. It was a chill morning, and the crowd would be eager for hot sweet rolls. Soon after, Magda opened the doors to the morning customers. His kids helped him arrange the plates and set them on the counter for her to take to them.

  Captain Bayard came and sat in his usual corner, away from the others. Of all Jorey’s customers, Bayard was the only one he actively disliked. He hid his feelings, for one could not afford to show disrespect to any Templar, much less one of their captains.

  Magda poured water from a tin pitcher into Bayard’s glass, taking an unusually long time to do so. Jorey saw their eyes meet, and his blood ran cold. He wondered why it should bother him so; it wasn’t as if he and Magda had chosen each other. Marriages were arranged by the Church solely for the promise of children. Love was inconsequential. Yet he had grown to love her over the years, even though she didn’t return his feelings. She didn’t hate him, and she was pleasant enough. He only wished he could win her heart, but the best he got from her was patient duty. They did have one passion in common—they both fiercely loved their children. Because of this, he trusted that she had not betrayed their marriage, no matter how much she lingered wistfully over the captain’s table.

  “Dad.”

  “Not now,” he said absently. Why did she stay there so long? There were other tables waiting. He wondered if he could say something without making an awkward scene.

  “Dad!”

  He turned his attention to his son. “What!”

  “I need to sit down now.”

  “Okay.” He poured Arlen a glass of water. “Here, go sit over there.” Arlen was looking pale. After lunch he would call for the healer. Medicine runes were one of the mysteries preserved for the clergy.

  Arlen sat on a chair by the wall, sipping at the water and leaning his head back. Keira, little trooper that she was, made up for her brother’s resting. She smiled at her brother and he smiled back.

  Jorey smiled as well. He needed to talk to Magda about trying to make another baby again. As it was, he only had eleven more years before moving up to the monastery. Keira was nine. There was no way to see his youngest flourish in adult life, but maybe he could see his eldest have his first child, and he could retire to the monastery having at least met some of his grandchildren. He wondered suddenly if Magda didn’t want to have another child with him, so she could move on. Start her clock over with the Templar captain…

  He looked up again to see his wife attending to the other tables. The cold
chill left his blood. He saw Bayard staring at him with those piercing dark eyes, and he hurriedly looked away, busying himself with his work.

  The morning crowd started to leave until only Bayard was left. “Can I get you anything else?” he heard Magda ask.

  “Maybe one more tea,” Bayard said. “Then I best be off.”

  “Daddy,” Keira tugged on his apron. “Arlen doesn’t look so good.”

  Jorey looked over at his son. Keira was right. He had slumped over, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin.

  “Arlen!” he cried out. The anxious note in his voice caught Magda’s attention. The two of them immediately forgot everything else and rushed to their son’s side. He no longer cared about Bayard’s overstayed welcome, and Magda dropped any attention paid to the Templar.

  “Arlen!” she said. “Wake up, honey. Arlen, can you hear me?”

  The boy’s eyes fluttered and then closed again. She felt his forehead. “Jorey, he’s burning with fever.”

  Jorey nodded. Bayard had risen to his feet. Jorey turned to the Templar. “Please, we need to get our son to the healer. Please, may we have dispensation from this morning’s prayers?”

  Bayard nodded. “Of course. I’m sure Keira knows her words. You can leave her here to pray.”

  “Jorey!” Magda screamed.

  Arlen’s body convulsed, and he fell forward onto the ground.

  Jorey rushed to his son’s side, and then bolted back away from him, unsure what to do. Arlen thrashed and growled—a sound he had never heard from a human throat.

  Oh no, he thought to himself. Please Karanos, don’t let it be that. Don’t take my son from me.

  Arlen thrashed more and Keira screamed. The boy’s body twisted and his face lengthened into a canine snout. His skin absorbed his clothing and sprouted fur. His fingers twisted into claws and his ears lengthened, sweeping back from his head.

  Suddenly, his eyes opened. What had been previously blue was now a wild gold. He stood in the body of a wolven child. The beast whirled and looked at each of them in kind, and then fell to his hands and knees. The wolven body shifted back into the form of his son, hair disappearing and his clothes emerging once more. Arlen vomited on the floor, and then fell forward, passing out.

  “Oh, Karanos, no!” Magda gasped.

  Jorey rushed to his son’s side and lifted the sleeping boy into his arms. “How is this possible? I don’t have any wolven ancestry. Do you?” he looked at his wife.

  “I… I don’t know,” she stammered.

  Bayard stepped forward. “It’s nothing to fear,” he said. “Karanos has chosen him. You know he will lead a good life.”

  Jorey shook his head. “Please, don’t take my boy from me! He won’t change again. I know he wants to stay with us.”

  Bayard shook his head. “You know the law. All wolven must become agents of the Empire. It is an honor. You should be happy for him. He’ll see the world.”

  Magda slumped into one of the dining chairs and started to cry. “Please, please don’t take him. Bayard, please.”

  The Templar looked at them with pity. “Karanos’ will cannot be denied. I won’t come back until after dinner. Spend this last afternoon with him. That’s all I can give you.”

  Magda sobbed.

  Jorey’s face burned with anger.

  It must have showed because Bayard turned to him and whispered, “Don’t try anything stupid like running. It wouldn’t go well for any of you.” He glanced briefly at Magda and then told Jorey, “For her sake, please be here when we come tonight.”

  Jorey blinked tears away from his own eyes. He took a deep breath and nodded.

  Bayard nodded, satisfied. He turned to leave. “Karanos’ will be done,” he said as he opened the door.

  “Karanos’ will be done,” murmured Jorey.

  24 - The Architect

  From the palace apartments in God Spire, Artalon’s central tower, Valkrage looked out over the brilliant twinkling of the nighttime skyline. He wrapped his velvet robes tightly around himself to guard against the chill winter air. The Archmage stood over five and a half feet in height, with a slender build and straight autumn-red hair that touched his shoulders. He had green eyes, a smooth face, and tapered ears half a foot in length. He wore deep purple wizard’s robes in the traditional style of a thousand years past. Next to Aaron, he was the single most powerful mortal ever to walk the earth in all of Ahmbren’s history, and the architect of its greatest civilization. He was the incarnation of Eldrikura, the Archdragon of Time. She was the Violet Dragon, one of the Four, and had once been consort to Klrain himself before the Black Dragon fell to evil. And yet, the sidhe wizard stared out over the cityscape and couldn’t shake the irrational feeling that everything he had worked for in the last thousand years—in the last eleven thousand years—was unraveling. And he was powerless to stop it.

  “I must do this alone,” Aaron had told him before he left, forty days ago. “You know this. Once Klrain awakens, you would not survive. You must live through this. I cannot imagine returning home and not having you in my life.”

  The God-King was right. Valkrage would not survive the Black Dragon’s wrath in his mortal body. But to Valkrage, Aaron was not just the God-King, nor before that had he simply been the Champion, Lord of Windbowl, or paladin of Archurion. None of these titles meant anything to Valkrage. He was simply Aaron. Aaron the noble, Aaron the beautiful. Valkrage knew what Aaron did not—that their parting kiss as his beloved went to fulfill his destiny would be their last.

  It had to be. Aaron, like his Empire, fully believed in his own divinity now.

  He left forty days ago to slay the Black Dragon. Valkrage stayed here on the balcony to Aaron’s throne room, fixated southeast towards Dragonholm, where the battle raged across the sea. On that first night he had felt the mind of the Black Dragon awaken, the evil one’s consciousness reverberating through the world for those who could sense it. Shortly thereafter, he felt Graelyn’s presence emerge from dragonsleep to fight at Aaron’s side. The battle still continued.

  Eleven thousand years ago, Klrain’s three siblings had not been strong enough to destroy him, and so he had been recaptured and imprisoned in Dragonholm. The best they were able to manage was to pull him back into dragonsleep, but in order to keep him contained, they too had to remain in dragonsleep.

  Dragon’s brains were more complex than those of the less evolved races. They could compartmentalize themselves towards different tasks simultaneously, a trait not found in any other living being. While in dragonsleep with the majority of their focus keeping their dark brother in slumber, a small fragment of each of them was able to speak and move as a dreamwalker, holding counsel with each other and touching the dreams and meditations of mortals. Thus, they still influenced the world. However, should any of them fully awaken, the impact of their minds in the world would end dragonsleep for all Four.

  It was not the first time this cycle had been enacted. They had imprisoned Klrain in dragonsleep after the first Dragon War, but he too visited mortal dreams. He taught the human lords of Artalon the art of summoning and binding demons. They made pacts with the Lords of Dis, forsaking wizardry for the easier power of sorcery as a weapon against the High Elven Imperium. Artalon’s rulers were marked by the demon lords to become the first of the darkling race. Thus, Klrain precipitated the rise of the Darkling Empire.

  He taught them the Dark pathways that bypassed space-time and joined Ahmbren to other worlds. The sorcerer-lords warped space-time, bringing lands from across the stars together to rule. Artalon existed simultaneously on multiple worlds, settling lands alien to Ahmbren. Klrain tempted the Sorcerer-King to join and conquer ever more worlds until the nexus of Dark pathways reached critical mass, stressing Ahmbren’s space-time enough for Klrain to break free of the dragonsleep prison. The Black Dragon rose above the land and flew towards the eternal city, threatening to devour not only Ahmbren but also all worlds joined to it through Artalon’s dark powers. The Thre
e awakened, and Archurion destroyed Artalon, shattering the pathways and saving all the worlds the Darkling Empire had bound. After Artalon’s destruction, they recaptured Klrain, and this time bound his dreamwalker in the Otherworld as a prisoner under the watch of the Fae King. They would not make the mistake of letting him twist mortal dreams twice.

  They knew this was a temporary reprieve at best. Klrain was too powerful for the Three to confront directly. They could not slay him as he slept, for should they awaken to do so, he would rise with them. They needed a champion, one who was not a dragon but who could wield their power. Such a champion could approach him as he slept and channel their might to bring him to his final end.

  Eldrikura read the flow of time and determined when such a champion would be born. Under her guidance they each found mortal children, still unborn in their mothers’ wombs. They bound their dreamwalkers to these unborn children so that they might become vessels for their incarnations. Eldrikura entered the soul of the sidhe boy Valkrage; Archurion, the human boy Kaldor; and Graelyn, the sidhe girl Sidhna. There they lay dormant, hiding unnoticed in the psyche of the developing mortals until their hosts reached maturity. They then merged with their hosts, absorbing each of the lesser personalities into their own.

  The avatars of the Three found their champion in the human paladin Aaron. The paladin proved the perfect candidate, for not only was he born under the right stars at the right time that he could be given their power, but he was also already dedicated to the ideals and service of the Gold Dragon through the Archurionite Church.

  Valkrage’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile at the memory. That had been the plan, at any rate. The transition went fine for Kaldor, but he himself had barely survived the integration of his mortal and dragon psyches. In the end, Eldrikura dominated and subsumed the elven mind of Valkrage, merging both their identities into one avatar. Sidhna had not been so lucky. Graelyn’s dreamwalker withdrew from the girl, abandoning the plan out of fear rather than sacrifice her godhood to the Champion. The void left by withdrawal of the Green Dragon’s life force, present since Sidhna’s birth, destroyed the elf girl and left her as an unnatural creature. There was no Green avatar to emerge and surrender the Dragon’s power.