“Please, sit,” her commander said, and then walked to his own chair with a slight stoop and an uneven gait from an old battle injury that wouldn’t go away. He ran his hands once over short-cut gray hair, still peppered with a little of his original black here and there. “You’re always busy,” he said warmly, “and given the fall of the Shadowlord, it’s to be expected. How is Attaris?”
“He is well,” Arda replied. “Retired and enjoying life. There’s something you need to know from my visit to Windbowl.”
Tulley listened attentively as Arda gave her report regarding the events in Windbowl nearly a year prior. When she finished, he ran his fingers thoughtfully through his short hair. “Seelie,” he mused. “Yes, that explains some of it then. I’ve seen some of these light elves outside the city. I’ve not been able to speak with them. And now you wish to find Kaldor? Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”
“Kaldisar was the closest chapter to the heart of the Empire,” she responded. “I went there first. Rumors led me to Roen. I asked the commander there about Kaldor’s whereabouts and how he communicated with the Order and he became evasive. He’s hiding something. When I pressed him, he sent me to you. He said you knew more.”
The older man leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands on his lap and regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. Finally, he took a deep breath and answered her. “Kaldor hasn’t spoken to us in centuries. That’s what they didn’t want to tell you.”
She slumped back in her chair. Arda had begun to suspect that Hylda might be right about Kaldor. “He’s not… real?”
Tulley shrugged. “You know I don’t go for the whole ‘Kaldor is a symbolic myth’ line of thinking, but he lived a long time ago. In truth, does it matter? His principles guide us, and we have the Light.”
“But… but why keep that a secret?” she asked. “Why allow the rest of us to believe he continues to give guidance and direction?”
“Hope. The Order needs a symbol, and he gives us that. We’re a forbidden society in a hostile Empire.”
“The Empire has fallen,” Arda remarked. “That’s no longer a problem.”
“Perhaps. People are slow to change. How is Roenti?”
“As expected,” she said. “They relied heavily on the Shadowlord’s runes. It will be some time before they rebuild.”
He nodded. “At least the Astians are a stubborn people. This land proved more resilient.”
Arda stood and walked over to the window. She looked at the sliver of sunlight that ran down the narrow street.
“I refuse to believe it,” she finally said. “Kaldor was Archurion’s avatar. I can’t believe he would just… fade away. I intend to find Taer Iriliandrel. I have to see its empty halls for myself before I accept he is truly gone.”
“Then go to Erindil,” Tulley told her. “It is there that Taer Iriliandrel stood a thousand years ago, but you will not find it there today. Nothing rises over the lake.”
“He’s a High Wizard. Maybe it’s hard to see now, or maybe he’s moved it,” she speculated.
“If you must pursue this foolishness, I will not dissuade you,” her commander told her. “If I know you, you will search through the realms until you are satisfied. However,” he added, “if you are going to do such a thing, the Order will see some benefit for it. Travel the Empire and see the results of Aaron’s fall. Help where you can, and teach the Values of the Light to those who are open to it.”
She regarded her commander, and then saluted him. “I will send word of my findings,” she said. “I’ll book passage to Erind Isle immediately. For Light’s Truth.”
“For Light’s Truth,” he returned the salute as she left.
A New Life
Anuit and Bryona hopped off the farmer’s wagon that had brought them to the gates of Astiana. Anuit had discovered Bryona was able to wear the guise of any woman and now took to hiding her demonic features. She still looked the proper lady, dressing far above Anuit’s station as a commoner, but other than that she seemed perfectly ordinary—if such beauty could be called ordinary.
Anuit had only recently allowed the demon back at her side. She had kept all three of them banished after she had lost control in the first month after leaving Windbowl. She had been arrogant in assuming she could command them, and now she knew she needed to use them carefully. Bryona was the only one allowed back into her presence for the time being.
The succubus had proved useful, for traveling alone as a woman came with risks. Even with Anuit’s powers of necromancy—she certainly could have defended herself against any common thug—she didn’t like to be alone. It was nice to have someone to guard her back and someone to talk to. And now that Bryona understood her boundaries, she only seduced those whom Anuit told her to seduce. Bryona had been able to peacefully extricate Anuit from a few scraps in the last couple weeks without the sorceress having to kill anyone. No need to tap into necromancy if it wasn’t needed. Bryona was much more subtle.
Anuit grinned to herself as she saw the bustle of city life churning through the streets of Astiana. It would be easy to lose oneself in the crowd here and make a new life. Rumor had it that there were even hidden sorcerer covens starting to make themselves known in the vacuum left by the Church. Astians were a resilient people, and the Empire’s fall had not nearly been as bad here as the stories told about Artalon—people starving to death in those towers!
Perhaps she would make contact with the sorcerer covens in due course but not yet. First she would establish a life for herself. Maybe even open a seamstress shop. Yes, she was sure Bryona could seduce a lord or two out of the funds necessary to sponsor a modest storefront.
As if reading her thoughts, Bryona shot her a sly grin as they entered the city.
Blood Sacrament
When Valkrage died, much of the remaining magic tied to the Dragon of Time died with him. The temporal stasis field that held Sidhna, the revenant vessel of Graelyn’s avatar, collapsed.
It was midnight when Sidhna opened her eyes for the first time in a thousand years. Her irises, once a bright green, now had a dull, milky film over them. Her body moved in stiff, jerking spasms, with pale, ashy gray and white skin stretched dry around dead flesh. The only thing that separated her from being a mere zombie was that her full consciousness and personality remained intact.
She pushed open the door to her chamber in the highest apartments of God Spire in Artalon. She remembered when Graelyn’s spirit withdrew from her body, and the collapsing of her own life force as the Dragon abandoned her soul to condense into undeath. She remembered Valkrage’s desire to end her, but Aaron insisted she be frozen until they could restore her to life. She remembered time slowing, her body becoming unable to move as things around her moved faster and faster until… until nothing. Just the inky blackness of unconsciousness.
She looked down at her desiccated form and wailed in anguish. She willed her shambling body forward with one purpose. Revenge.
Sidhna made her way through the Imperial apartments. The walls, once beautiful, were encrusted with black soot. She came to the throne room. The seat from which Aaron ruled was destroyed, split by a burned-out, spherical hole.
Shattered bones lay embedded in the throne’s crater. Sidhna stopped before it, staring dully at them. What had happened? Were they all dead?
“They are not all dead,” a silky feminine voice said.
A woman with olive skin, dark eyes, and human features stood behind the throne. She had not been there a moment before. Instead of hair, a mass of crimson snakes fell from her head, reminiscent of a gorgon. The snakes did not writhe, but slowly undulated, some lying over her shoulders, their heads resting on the tops of her breasts. The snakes’ eyes matched the woman’s gaze, all fixed upon Sidhna. Her face was the most beautiful Sidhna had ever seen among humans or elves. The woman wore a formfitting maroon strapless dress that left her neck and shoulders bare. The dress hugged her legs until it flared at the ankles. On her feet were red snakeskin boot
s with pointed toes and high heels. She stood comfortably with arms folded across her chest, waiting for Sidhna to ask the expected question.
“Who are you?” Sidhna asked, forcing words through her dead throat. Her voice was cracked and gravelly.
“I am all that is desired,” the woman answered, eyes gleaming. “And I am she who desires all.”
Sidhna was no stranger to Archurionite myths. She had been taught the lore of the Nine Kingdoms as a young child. All that is desired, and she who desires all. That was a line from humanity’s oldest sacred texts. The crimson serpents too reinforced the image.
“Malahkma,” the revenant stated. “You are the Goddess of Desire.”
The woman smiled, eyes sparkling. “I am.”
“How did you—?” Sidhna began. “The priests say that Athra had bound you in the Abyss.”
Malahkma grinned and pointed to the Archmage’s bones. “Resurrecting Karanos weakened all the gods, including the Gods of Light. By the time his Champion was strong enough to fulfill his purpose, I just…” she waved her hand fluidly through the air, “slipped away. One of the guilds in this city awakened my mind by doing my work in my name, even if not intentionally.”
“The Champion succeeded?” Sidhna asked.
“Oh, you poor soul,” Malahkma consoled her. “You’ve been frozen for a thousand years.”
A thousand years?
“What do you want of me?” Sidhna asked. A goddess did not reveal herself without purpose.
“There is still a danger to me,” the Goddess of Desire replied. “The Dragons have not been fully destroyed. Their work must be completely undone. Do you desire revenge?”
“I do!” Sidhna answered hungrily. She felt hatred and anger inside her, and the energy fueled her. Her lips twisted into a snarl. “Look what they did to me. I was innocent, and they…”
“They raped your soul,” Malahkma finished for her. “Graelyn, my daughter, had no right to do this to you.” She then pointed to Valkrage’s bones. “None of them did. I need you to be my Champion.” Malahkma came close to Sidhna and placed her warm hands on the elf’s desiccated shoulders. “I must be quiet—I do not desire the attention of the Gods of Light so early. You and I want the same thing, but I need you to act for me.”
“I have heard this before,” Sidhna hissed and drew back. “Graelyn said the same thing… her spirit said she must be quiet lest she waken the Black Dragon. But I refused to give myself to her. I would have ceased to be me. I will not choose death while you use my body.”
Malahkma shook her head, her eyes looking lovingly at the dead elf girl. “No, that would not do. I desire you. If your soul died, then I would not have you. I would never propose what she did. I will give you the power of my desire. My blood will flow in your veins, and you will be beautiful again, young again. You will know the power of my desire, but I promise… I will not possess you. You will still be you. I only ask that you give your love to me, that you desire me, and through me you drink from the cup of vengeance. You deserve justice!
“Will you accept my offer?” the goddess asked. “Will you become my daughter in exchange for the power to wreak your vengeance?”
Hatred surged in Sidhna’s still heart. “Yes!” she said. “Remake me in your image!”
Malahkma embraced the revenant. She kissed Sidhna’s dead lips, and the elf felt the stinging heat of her desire. Malahkma pulled Sidhna in closer until their bodies were pressed together. The crimson serpents on Malahkma’s head unfurled and wrapped themselves around Sidhna. They hissed and struck, sinking their fangs into the dead skin.
Sidhna’s lifeless flesh felt no pain, only a tugging sensation as each snake clasped its jaws on her body. Venom flowed from their fangs, filling her veins where once there had been blood. Sidhna felt the venom burn and race inside her, filling her with the intensity of Malahkma’s spirit. The desire for all things grew and consumed her. It was greed, it was lust; it was hunger and thirst. It was the greatest need for love and companionship, the desire to possess, to dominate, and to be alone, unhindered by others, all at once. She shuddered and moaned.
“Now,” Malahkma said, releasing Sidhna from the embrace. “Now you need blood to complete the transformation.” The goddess pulled the top of her dress away to free a single breast to the air. Her dark brown nipple stood erect, and a crimson drop of blood formed on its tip.
“Drink of my milk and become my daughter!” she commanded and pulled in Sidhna’s dried lips to her breast.
Sidhna suckled the goddess’s blood, and it met the venom in her veins, transforming into the warmth of life, fueled by the desire to live. Serpent fangs filled with venom sprouted in her mouth above her canines, extending to puncture Malahkma’s breast. Hot blood spilled freely down Sidhna’s throat.
The venom-infused blood of divinity filled the revenant. Her skin moistened, and the wrinkles of desiccation filled out into a fresh, youthful glow. The milky haze over her eyes vanished, restoring a piercingly clear gaze. Though her flesh did not return to life, the blood itself lived within her. It infused each cell, restoring the suppleness and youth of a corpse freshly dead. The blood flowing down her throat filled the void of every desire within her. The gray in her hair darkened and returned to its natural red.
Malahkma finally pushed her away. The wounds on her breast closed, and the blood that covered her skin was absorbed back into her body. She pulled her dress up and covered herself.
Sidhna looked down in wonder at her hands. Her skin was pure white, beautiful and as translucent as alabaster.
“Two of my children remain among the living,” Malahkma said. “Kaldor endures, and Graelyn has dispersed her spirit to hide among the seelie. Slay them all.”
And then the goddess vanished, leaving Ahmbren’s first vampire alone at the top of God Spire to look down over the broken city of Artalon.
COVENANT
PROLOGUE
Banished
Kaldor turned from the window to find Valkrage had appeared beside him, traveling instantly from Artalon by translocation magic. A tremor of anger and apprehension tugged at his stomach when he saw the Archmage. He suppressed a very human urge to throw his mug of hot coffee at the elf’s face, and instead brought the bitter drink to his lips, sipping it calmly. He focused on the Gold Dragon’s presence in the core of his being and took strength from it.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Valkrage said to the black-skinned human. “I cannot allow you to interfere any longer. You will jeopardize everything.”
It was the year 362 of the God-King’s reign. Kaldor and Valkrage were not brothers, but at one time they may as well have been. Kaldor knew why the elf had come. The Kaldorite Order now flourished despite the Church’s efforts to stamp it out.
Valkrage inclined his head in greeting. The sidhe’s eyes glittered, and his straight red hair fell to his shoulders. Tapered ears extended from beneath his hair unbendingly upward, long enough to stop level with the crown of his skull. The high elf wore thick velvet robes of deep purple.
“Brother,” Kaldor returned the greeting. “It has been many years since you have visited Taer Iriliandrel.” He had eschewed the traditional garb of a wizard in this hotter climate, opting instead for a loose-fitting white cotton shirt and trousers embroidered in gold. He had broad shoulders, dark eyes, a clean-shaven head, the darkest brown skin—some called him black—and features from Tiumapar, his native land.
“You’ve aged,” Valkrage commented.
The elf was right. Kaldor now appeared as a man in his mid-forties, although he was centuries older. The spark of Archurion within him persisted. Valkrage, on the other hand, had not seemed to age a day. His elven blood already blessed him with a natural lifespan of six to seven centuries, and the Violet Dragon’s spirit inside him only extended it.
They stood beside an open window in his library at the top of Taer Iriliandrel overlooking the azure lake, which glittered in the sun’s noon rays. The lakeside city of Erindil, with its red
-painted tile ceilings and white marble walls, was a beautiful sight to behold. It always brought Kaldor comfort. Taer Iriliandrel stood as the most beautiful tower in the human realms, rising from its island high above Erindil Lake. It overlooked Erindil, with its lofty kites, proud flags, and a healthy smattering of windmills.
The tower rose a thousand feet, round and gracefully tapered as it climbed to an ornamental crown constructed in the likeness of a dragon’s hand holding a clear prismatic jewel. Its outer walls were white marble, carved smooth to fit the curvature of its surface. Little statuettes and bas-reliefs depicting all the mythologies of the world rose in an intricate spiral up the tower’s sides. It had stood as the seat of power for the High Wizards for centuries, and it was here that, as students, Valkrage and Kaldor had learned that they were the incarnations of the Archdragons Eldrikura and Archurion. There had been another incarnation, an elven girl named Sidhna, who was to be the vessel of Graelyn the Green, the third good Archdragon. That match had not gone well.
“I understand why you created the Kaldorite Order,” Valkrage inclined his head. “Indeed, I applaud your long-term vision. But it is yet too early, and you interfere with my plans.”
“You’ve made Aaron into a god,” Kaldor growled. Even the Dragon inside him rumbled with agitation at the thought.
“Not yet,” Valkrage corrected him, “but I will. After many centuries. Hopefully, the Black Dragon won’t awaken on his own before Aaron’s ready to face him. You must not subvert people’s faith from completing his transformation.”
But Kaldor was doing just that. He had acted in secret to found a new paladin order, opposing the very Church that Archurion himself had inspired in ages past. His followers devoted themselves to preserving the ideals he saw lost under Valkrage’s corruption of human religion: humility before the universe, the value of life, of joy as life’s purpose, of compassion, of liberty, of individuality, of community, of truth and knowledge, of artistic expression, and the industriousness to transform the world by the light of these values. The new paladins committed themselves to practicing, protecting and preserving these ideals as a higher philosophy not beholden to any god, and they called themselves Kaldorites.
When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set Page 38