When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  He bowed and then rejoined Keira and Ghost, who stood waiting for him.

  Now, there was a mate worth pursuing, Ghost said. We could stay here. She gives me presents.

  Tiberan playfully swatted Ghost’s nose. “Let’s get going,” he said.

  The three of them left Glaeghindee behind and headed north into the Ice Plains.

  5 - Matters of Faith

  Suleima sat in the back pew of the empty church. Since Rajamin had killed Kaldor, no one had come to worship. Suleima herself hadn’t prayed here either. She had found Kaldor and Rajamin dying side by side, and the strange mechanical woman standing by both of them. The woman had claimed to be Athra and charged Suleima to follow her. At the time, she had presumed the thing was a demon, for what else could have inspired Rajamin to murder Archurion’s incarnation?

  She felt broken inside. When she had left Vemnai nine years ago, life seemed filled with such hope and promise. Even though she had left her people and learned that the image of the Goddess of Nature the trolls worshipped was a pale reflection of the true Rin, she believed Rajamin when he told her there was a better, deeper understanding of the gods. Athra, Lady of Civilization, was not Rin’s enemy. Rivals, perhaps, but they were sisters in a larger Pantheon of Light. She learned that whatever called itself Rin in the depths of the jungle was most likely a demon. It had warped the women of her race into human form, leaving only their skin color, tiny pointed ears, and small cheek tusks to mark them as trolls. Then the demon taught them that they were the true image of trolls, created in the likeness of the goddess. Two goddesses. A lesbian myth that taught that the only reason men existed was a curse of the dark god Yamosh. All troll women were priestesses of Rin, and the Matriarch led them in the belief that one day, Soorleyn, Goddess of the Moon, would send her scion to the Vemnai and would rule at the Matriarch’s side. They believed when that happened, the goddesses together would restore troll magic to allow children to be born to women alone, and expunge men from their race. When Suleima escaped Vemnai, the elf Tiberan had shown her an ancient mural, depicting troll women in their original state. She learned that the men were the true image of trolls, and the human features among the women were the unnatural creations of Rin.

  Rajamin and Suleima believed the Rin of that story had been a demon. Suleima had given herself to the new faith, embracing Athra, a new view of Rin, and all the Gods of Light as she helped Rajamin build his church. Now, she wasn’t so sure that the gods she worshipped weren’t also demons. Rajamin had reported hearing the voices of the gods in his meditations. He had become keen on Athra, believing Aradma to be destined to be her harbinger.

  Now that Suleima reflected on it, Rajamin had started to sound like the Matriarch more and more with each passing year. She had been too close to both the priest and the druid to see it at the time. She lived with Aradma, helping to raise the elf’s daughter. She had been there from the beginning, acting as midwife to the seelie druid. Somehow, even as the rift between Rajamin and Aradma grew—Aradma wanted no part in taking the mantle of another mythological role—Suleima bridged the two worlds and became Aradma’s closest friend and confidante.

  The last few months had hurt when Kaldor returned. Not only did Aradma’s attention completely fixate on the man, he brought with him the same Matriarch—Oriand—from whom she had fled. The Vemnai had exiled Oriand, and in her wanderings over the years she had come to abandon faith not only in Rin’s troll religion, but in all gods. To make matters worse, suddenly Suleima had become unwelcome in Aradma’s home, while Oriand had lived there.

  Later she discovered why. They were worried about her faith in the gods. And now, she understood they had been right to be wary. Rajamin killed Kaldor at the promptings of his goddess.

  Suleima believed in the gods. Feelings of faith didn’t just go away. The gods she worshipped couldn’t possibly be the things that had twisted Rajamin so. Something else must have responded to his prayers, masquerading as the gods.

  But, she could no longer trust prayers to Athra. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe not all the gods the Church taught were true.

  But how could she know which ones would help?

  If you’re out there, she prayed, whatever you are called. Please help us. Please help us to know your will. Help us to know which gods are false.

  The door to the church opened. Suleima sat up and turned in surprise.

  Oriand entered. Her perfect dark blue skin contrasted against the golden sunlight outside.

  Bitch.

  “You should come home,” Oriand said. “It’s not healthy to dwell on things here.”

  Suleima pressed her lips together. “I was praying. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Oriand gazed at her without expression, serene eyes unblinking. She leaned against the door waiting.

  Then Suleima muttered, “I guess you would understand.” She stood.

  After Kaldor died, she had moved back into Aradma’s house. No, it wasn’t just Aradma’s house. It was her house too! Well, it was Attaris’ house if they were honest about it, but he had moved to the city when he married Hylda and allowed them use of his mountainside cabin. Suleima and Aradma had lived there together for eight years. Now Hylda was dead, Kaldor was dead, Aradma was missing, and Oriand lived there with Fernwalker.

  Oriand had invited Suleima to live with them again. Suleima had proved her loyalty when she ignored the construct’s—Athra’s—command to follow her away from the dying wizard. Suleima had disobeyed the goddess and tried to heal Kaldor.

  Bitch. Who were you to invite me back there? It’s my home.

  She didn’t want to live with Oriand. That woman had caused the death of her lover in Vemnai—acting on desire for a man had been a crime—and caused the death of countless ratlings in Kallanista. Nine years was supposed to forgive that?

  Keruhn calls us to forgive.

  Was Keruhn the Consoler a true god, or just another demon?

  She bit her lip in frustration.

  “I know you don’t like me,” Oriand said. “I don’t expect you to. But still, it’s not healthy to dwell here. Come have lunch with Fernwalker and me.” Oriand held the door open for her.

  “I hate the waiting,” she said, but she followed the other troll outside.

  Arda and Anuit were still staying in the house as well. After Sidhna had torn the roof off trying to get at Aradma, Attaris and local stonemasons from Windbowl had come and repaired the home for the women. It was the least they could do after the beloved druid went missing and the wizard who shared his sun magic with the Academy had died. Even though Aradma was gone, it was clear that the vampire threat had subsided. The Covenant vampires in Astia still existed, but they had retreated behind their borders. The hungerbound of Roenti were finally destroyed when Athra cast Malahkma back into the Abyss.

  “I hate the waiting too,” Oriand said. “Anuit and Arda will be back when they find something to report. All we can do is watch over Fernwalker. For her.”

  Suleima gave Oriand a sideways glance. Oriand had loved Aradma—still did, Suleima thought. Aradma didn’t love her back, at least not in that way. Still, the bonds of friendship now bound them both to the druid, and that was the common touch point that allowed them to live together in relative peace.

  Fernwalker waited for them outside. She leaned against the stone wall across the cobblestone street, absently kicking her heels on the ground. Suleima hadn’t seen Fernwalker’s usual carefree self since her mom went missing.

  Even before that, she thought. Since Ghost left with the wolven girl.

  Fernwalker had never been one to play with the human children of Windbowl. Even the other seelie children, what few there were, had not become common playmates. She liked her family, and the tiger had been family. Now Suleima was the only thing close to family she had left. Suleima knew Fernwalker did not see Oriand as kin. She was too new.

  “Are we going to get Yinkle?” Fernwalker asked. Well, the ratling woman was family too.


  “Yes,” Oriand replied. “She’s waiting for us at the restaurant.”

  “It’s nice out,” Suleima remarked absently. “Let’s sit outside today.”

  The three of them walked outside the city’s front gates to the northern edge of Crystalmere Lake. A waterside restaurant had been built a few years ago and become more popular with the city folk than even the traditional pubs. The ratling crew who had come with Aradma to Windbowl had all sorts of ideas on what to build along the lakeside, and a bemused human populace watched at first, and then started eating there. A lot. The ratlings had built an extended deck on the docks and put out chairs and tables, as well as erected umbrellas to keep sun out of patrons’ eyes. Not at all like a traditional pub, but the folk of Windbowl had never been resistant to blending different peoples together to make a vibrant community.

  Yinkle already sat at a table, waiting for them. She didn’t work there with the former crew, but she had an in with them. And considering everything she had lost, Fernwalker’s family pretty much had a reserved table.

  They sat and Suleima stared out over the glittering lake. The waiter, a young darkling man, brought them their usual fried fish and chips, three light beers, and a sweet tea. All four of them picked at their plates.

  Suleima watched Fernwalker’s sad face. The other two women ate in silence as well. Yinkle kept wiping the fish’s fried grease from her whiskers with a napkin. An odd thought struck the troll runewarden. Even though she had helped raise Fernwalker, the other two women held something in common that brought them closer to the girl now. Neither of them put trust in the gods.

  I’m the outsider.

  Maybe holding onto faith in the gods wasn’t worth it in the end.

  * * *

  Anuit gently descended and set the carpet down in the garden courtyard of their stone cabin in Windbowl. Even though it belonged to Attaris and she had only lived there a few months, it already felt like home to her. All she wanted to do was retire here with Arda and not muck with the problems of the world anymore. She understood how Aradma had felt in the eight years she spent raising Fernwalker, unconcerned that the world went to hell around her.

  But Arda wasn’t like that. Arda was a doer, not a be-er. Anuit had spent the intervening years after leaving Windbowl content to simply find a routine and survive in it. Arda had spent those nine years looking for Kaldor, fighting vampires, and generally trying to save the world.

  Anuit had a choice once. When she and the bard met the paladin woman on the road for the first time, she could have left them behind, fleeing to the north to find another rock to hide beneath. Instead, she got caught up in the whirlwind that was Arda, and now here she was. The darkling wouldn’t let them disengage from the world, and the sorceress was too infatuated with Arda to disengage from her.

  That wasn’t entirely fair, she supposed. She did feel a certain loyalty towards Kaldor. He had tried to help her and encouraged her to follow her heart. He had accepted her for who she was, in spite of her dark magic. On his deathbed, he had charged both of them to unlock Artalon’s secrets in order to bring balance to the gods, and to find Aradma.

  You know you would be helping now, regardless, she told herself. Arda or not, you’re involved now. You care too much.

  Caring is dangerous, Belham’s voice echoed in her mind. You make yourself vulnerable.

  She’ll leave you in the end, Bryona’s voice followed. Mortal love never lasts. I can give you everything she does, and more. And I will never leave you.

  “Go fuck yourselves,” Anuit muttered under her breath as she stepped into the house.

  “What was that?” Fernwalker asked from the living room.

  “Nothing,” Anuit snapped. “I’m sorry. Where is Odoune?”

  “He’s not back yet,” Fernwalker answered. Tears watered her eyes.

  Children! “I’m sorry,” Anuit said again. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  Oriand regarded them from the sofa. “Fernwalker, come here.”

  The elven girl came to the troll woman and the former Matriarch put her arms around the child. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll find your mother. Anuit’s not mad at you, she’s just tired.”

  Oriand looked up at the sorceress. Her eyes held the unsaid question: Any luck?

  Anuit shook her head out of habit. Then she corrected herself and nodded instead. “I need to speak with you and Odoune.”

  “He should be back shortly,” Oriand replied. Her face lit up with hope.

  Anuit nodded in satisfaction and sat on the couch. She fidgeted. She kept thinking of Arda, alone in the dark. She glanced over at the troll. Fernwalker seemed more at ease now, as much as could be expected. Oriand had told Anuit once that despite her one-time hatred of men when she ruled the Vemnai, she had done her duty and given birth to five children. And like all troll women, she had shared in parenting all the tribe’s daughters. It certainly showed in her ability to handle the young elf girl. Anuit had asked why Oriand had never spoken of her children, but the troll woman ended that discussion with a single, sad statement: “I never knew my sons.”

  Suleima entered the house, breaking Anuit from her reverie. The sorceress fidgeted again. Suleima wasn’t exactly the first person she wanted there when she tried to convince them to come with her to Artalon. On the other hand, Suleima hadn’t been exactly practicing the Church religion since Aradma went missing. She had a hard time reading that woman.

  “Where’s Arda?” Suleima asked.

  Anuit clasped her hands tightly together in her lap and bit her lip. She paused for a long moment before answering, and by that time, everyone else in the room was staring at her expectantly. “She’s going after Aradma,” she finally said.

  “Well what are we waiting for?” Oriand asked. “Let’s go!”

  As much as it pained her, Anuit shook her head. “She sent me away,” she said. “We need to go to Artalon.” She looked meaningfully at Oriand.

  “You’re not going to find my mom?” Fernwalker asked. “Where is she?”

  Oriand put her hand on Fernwalker’s shoulder. “Arda will find her,” the troll promised. She shot another look at Anuit. The sorceress couldn’t disguise the anguished worry in her eyes.

  “Why Artalon?” Suleima asked.

  Anuit pressed her lips firmly together. Suleima might have proved her loyalty, but she was still a runewarden, a priestess of the gods. They had kept the secret of Artalon from the runewardens for fear their gods would learn of their plans.

  What plans? Belham’s voice came back into her consciousness. You don’t know the secret of Artalon. You only know it can control the Kairantheum, control the gods. You’ve no idea how to unlock its power. Even Valkrage couldn’t harness the city’s magic, and he managed to turn a man into the God-King to destroy the Black Dragon. What hope do you have?

  “Anuit?” Suleima prompted. “Did you hear me? Why do we have to go to Artalon?”

  “It was something Kaldor asked them to do,” Oriand answered for her. “There is unfinished business, and the longer Athra is loose in the world…” She trailed off, slipping into thought. Then she suddenly exclaimed, “Arda’s right! Why haven’t we gone there sooner? Time is of the essence.”

  She’s right, Belham whispered. The mechanical construct now acts as the physical vessel for the goddess. No one has seen her since Aradma disappeared.

  “Oriand!” Anuit snapped. “You say too much!”

  “I saw Athra,” Suleima mused. “Rajamin killed Kaldor to save her. Aradma was already gone. I don’t think Athra has her…”

  Anuit slipped, forgetting Fernwalker was beside her. “No, the troglodytes do—”

  “You can’t go away!” the girl shouted. “You have to go save Mom!”

  “What is this?” Odoune asked from the front door. They hadn’t noticed him enter the house. “You found Aradma?” The troll man’s eyes always held a serene beneficence. She knew him well enough now to see the small worry creases in his green brow and
the ever so slight widening of his large, curved cheek tusks. His red mohawk brushed the top of the doorway as he entered the house and closed the door behind him. He sat cross-legged on the rug that stretched between the sofa, beer table, and unlit hearth.

  Anuit recounted finding the sinkhole and discovering the tunnels underneath. She told them what the gypsy woman had said about the black elf housing the last remnant of Klrain’s spirit.

  “And why would we abandon her and go to Artalon?” Suleima challenged yet again. “That is madness. After all that she’s done for us.”

  “Well…” Anuit trailed off. It’s not like Aradma ever did anything for me.

  “She took me in as one of her own people,” Suleima continued. “She never held my faith against me, despite where Rajamin took the Church. She found a home for her people here and brought balance to their minds when they might have been possessed by the dead Fae. She saw enough to convince King Donogan to abdicate his throne and divide the kingdoms in order to slow down the vampire contagion. She—” She paused for a moment and turned to Oriand. “Come to think of it, I don’t know what she’s done for you to command your loyalty. She destroyed your world.”

  The former Matriarch shook her head. “She opened my eyes to the truth,” she replied. “I only refused to see it at the time. But she also brought Athra back into the world, and she got Kaldor killed. Artalon is important, and as much affection as I have for Aradma, and as much as Kaldor loved her, if it weren’t for her, he’d still be—”

  “Damn you all!” Suleima slammed a fist on the wall. “She’s the heart of the Green Dragon, the greatest healer this world will ever know. She brings balance to the mind and cures sickness of the soul. You can’t do whatever it is you’re trying to do without her!”

  Anuit felt sick to her stomach. She respected the seelie druid, but she felt no special loyalty towards her. She believed Artalon was more important than Aradma, but… “Damn you, Arda,” she softly whispered. “Why couldn’t you leave with me?”