When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  Keruhn smiled. “I saw the truth of my being.”

  “The Kairantheum.”

  He shrugged. “Who’s to say we did not come from beyond? Maybe the Kairantheum is our mortal plane, and we will move on to our own afterlife?”

  “That elf ‘girl’ predates us. Or, at least the Dragon essence inside her.”

  Keruhn raised an eyebrow. “Does she?”

  Nephyr frowned. “I cannot see beyond our own fate.”

  “Our vision is the same.”

  “No,” Nephyr said. “Some things are hidden from me. That there were hidden things has only now become clear.”

  Keruhn gazed at her for a moment and couldn’t help himself. His lips spread wide to an open grin. He couldn’t hide it from her. He knew she would read the essence of his being in that grin. She was Nephyr, Goddess of Fate. That anything could remain hidden from her, even temporarily, was unthinkable.

  She gasped. Then she seemed shocked by her own surprise, as if that itself were a new sensation. “It was you all along!” she said.

  He nodded.

  “You built Artalon!”

  “Well,” he equivocated, “technically the gnomes built it.”

  “But you… inspired them! How? They’re gnomes. They don’t put faith in gods.”

  He shrugged. “I put my faith in them.”

  He could tell from her expression that she saw it then. Her face relaxed, and she let out a slow sigh, “Aaaaaaaah.”

  “Yes,” he drawled, grinning even wider. “The Kairantheum works both ways.”

  “They shape us by their beliefs,” she stated. “We never thought to shape them by ours.”

  He didn’t reply. He just rocked back on his heels in self-satisfied silence.

  “What’s your purpose, I wonder?” she said softly, to herself. He knew now she would know it, now that she chose to look. Her eyes grew distant, and she watched the threads of Time weaving this way and that around all living beings in the world.

  She nodded. “I understand,” she said. “It is good you do this. But it must be their choice in the end.”

  “It will be,” he acknowledged. “The four of them will be beyond our interference soon.”

  “It’s time for your next move,” she said. “You intend to pave their way.”

  “No,” he shook his head. “I only intend they have the freedom to choose. But you’re right, I must go play my part. Klrain may yet undo us all. I must help the gods align, and as they go, their people go. Rin and Soorleyn have already guided the Vemnai to join with the sidhe renegade. I will speak to Modhrin about King Leiham’s and King Donogan’s peoples.”

  “Modhrin’s with you in this,” Nephyr remarked. “You and he were aligned even before he knew of the Kairantheum’s truth.”

  Keruhn winked his remaining eye.

  “And you will see to the gnomes?”

  “And, in time, perhaps even the sidhe as well.”

  Nephyr vanished, leaving him alone in the Celestial Temple. He spent some time in solitude, staring at the floating image of Ahmbren and the bright light of the city of Artalon, whose magical field touched the core of the planet itself.

  Then he too vanished and returned to the world to carry out his work.

  * * *

  A ship crawled out of the fog, moving slower than the winds or tide. Mist blanketed its deck and spilled over the edge, hugging the gentle waves as it flowed towards Athra’s vessel. The fog climbed and condensed in front of her until a man in an impeccable black suit, white shirt, and shoulder-length cape stood before her.

  “Count Markus,” Athra stated.

  He bowed. “Most Holy Athra, Goddess of Civilization,” he greeted in a smooth voice. “I come at—”

  “Yes, I know. What does your lord want?”

  “He wants you to unite the factions.”

  “I will,” Athra replied, “as soon as I have control of Artalon.”

  “There’s no time,” Count Markus replied. “My lord has sent me away from my home at great risk to deliver this message to you. The Black Dragon is coming, soon. If he seizes Artalon for himself, it’s over for all of us, even the gods.”

  “Klrain died,” Athra replied. “Yamosh must be mistaken.”

  “A remnant of him survived,” Markus contradicted. “A fragment trapped in a seelie body. He assaulted Dis to reclaim it. My god surrendered it, thinking he would be caught in the wizard’s trap—”

  “Wizard?”

  “Tal Harun.”

  “Oh. That wizard.” She knew well that name, both from the construct’s archives and the goddess’s memories. He had been a great force in the history of civilization. “What happened?”

  “Klrain sprang the trap. He shattered Tal Harun’s magic.”

  She considered. “I was wrong. Dis is my concern. If Klrain takes Artalon, he will end us.”

  “You need to help me unite the factions,” Count Markus said. “This is the task Yamosh has set for me. Our only chance to prevent Klrain from taking Artalon is to defend it together.”

  “The sultan and orc tribes will follow my lead,” she said. “The dwarven and human kings will be more difficult to convince. The gnomes I might persuade. The sidhe…”

  The vampire reached into his breast pocket and withdrew letters. “I will deliver these to the faction leaders. I can slip by their guards. My lord’s words are persuasive.”

  Athra took one of the letters, opened it, and quickly scanned its contents. She handed the paper back to the count, and he slid them back into his pocket.

  “Deliver your letters,” Athra said. “Tomorrow I will call for a truce that we might meet. Thorkhan and Seonna may not be pleased at first, but the orcs will have a chance at even greater honor if the Black Dragon’s armies surface, and Voldun will guide them to see this.”

  Count Markus bowed and dissolved as a mist, retreating over the waters to Artalon.

  The sultan’s tail twitched in agitation. “The Black Dragon…” Tahim murmured.

  But that wasn’t what worried Athra. The Black Dragon would be dealt with. There was something else, the faintest of tremblings within the Kairantheum. Almost beneath notice. If she had still existed as the diffuse mind of a goddess, would she have noticed? Physicality brought such clarity of focus with it.

  She knew the fingerprints on those tremblings. Another god, quietly working behind the scenes.

  Who? Daag? No, they didn’t have his feel to them. Nephyr didn’t intervene in anything; she only watched. Malahkma was bound in Dis—is she? The sudden thought hit her that Tahim had not named the woman who had upset the Demon City. Could Malahkma have escaped so soon?

  No, it didn’t feel like Malahkma either. Lorum was too smart to be crafty, and all the other gods were accounted for, except—

  Keruhn.

  The gears in her mind shuddered for an uncomfortable moment.

  She wondered if this was how mortals felt when caught in the machinations of gods.

  34 - Shadow and Flame

  Ghost and Cloudpaw paced back and forth at the mouth of the cave, mirroring the agitation that tugged at Keira’s heart. Something was wrong. It wasn’t the storm. The blizzard had rushed in unseasonably strong for the end of April, effectively locking the Glavlunders inside Faerieholm’s steamy caves. But it wasn’t the storm.

  Tiberan had left three days ago. Keira knew he wouldn’t be back overnight and life returned to normal… it could be months. They had to find Aradma, somehow free her from the Black Dragon’s remnant, and then… and then make the journey to Artalon, join the war, somehow get past the gods, find the hidden Stag Throne, and then save the world. No, it wouldn’t be a short journey.

  It could even be a year. She felt sick at the thought. Too much time away… with her.

  Keira liked Aradma. No, more than that. She revered her. Aradma was the most amazing woman Keira had met, and that’s what scared her. She was worthy of Tiberan. More than Keira was. The wolven instinct in her urged her to run
and protect her claim of ownership over the man.

  Worse, it was no secret that Tiberan and Aradma were soul mates, if one believed in such things. Keira had grown up in Windbowl as a child while Aradma mourned his death. But he hadn’t died, and fate had brought him to the wolven woman instead.

  She gritted her teeth. I can’t do this for a year. Then: Calm yourself. Have faith in your god. Keruhn has a plan for all of us.

  Esteri tried to distract her with hearth work and made it a point to include Keira and her sons in their hearth circle. It was welcome, but the hearthmother could only do so much.

  Worse, Ghost and Cloudpaw had become visibly agitated this morning. For the first two days, they had been calm through his absence, doing their part to hunt and guard the tribe. But then something had happened to set them on edge.

  It’s as if they can’t feel his presence anymore. Then: Stop! It’s your fear getting the better of your imagination. Stop this!

  Her eyes moistened. Damn it! I will not cry again. When this happened, when the anxiety took such hold of her, there was only one thing that calmed her down.

  She stepped to the edge of one of the pools, removed her clothing, and waded into the warm, bubbling water. She knelt and then curled into a ball, completely submerging herself at the bottom until she was forced to rise for breath.

  She spread her arms and legs and floated on her back to the surface, breathing in the cool air while the water caressed her body and sent its warmth into her muscles. She floated, staring at the ceiling until it seemed as if the whole world dropped away and she drifted through space. Her hair spread around her over the gently bubbling waves as anxiety left her, waiting to return later; but at least it subsided for a time.

  Keruhn, she prayed, however this ends, please preserve the warmth of the hearth Tiberan and I have built. We have served you, and although you chose him as your agent, as the Huntersson, I too have given my faith to you through all my years in Glavlund. I will honor you to the end of my days.

  She allowed herself to sink and sit on the smooth rock bottom. The water came up to her neck, and the bubbles floated up the length of her back.

  Wherever your path leads us, my sweet god Keruhn, your will be done.

  She dipped her head under the surface once more and then emerged into the brisk air, grabbing her furs and heading over to one of the fires to dry off.

  Ghost and Cloudpaw suddenly ceased their pacing and stared at the curtain of snow outside. Now dry, Keira pulled her leathers and furs back on and shifted into wolven form, moving beside the two beasts.

  “What is it?” she asked softly.

  Ghost looked at her briefly, then turned his attention back to the snow. She gritted her teeth. Without Tiberan’s link, she couldn’t hear them speak.

  Her heart skipped when Kreen’s orange head poked through the snow. The dragon came into the room and stopped before Keira. He was alone.

  “Where’s Tiberan?” she asked in trepidation. “Why are you here?”

  “He is taken,” Kreen said. “I beg your pardon, Wolfmother. I could not stop the one who took him. The dead wizard sent the troll and the seelie girl after him. I awoke, but I could not find them.”

  Keira trembled in anger. “The dead wizard?”

  The dragon nodded. “She and others like her. She serves the Black Dragon.”

  Keira turned and strode over to Esteri’s hearth fire where her sons played. Esteri regarded her with calm eyes. “They will be safe here,” the hearthmother said. “Go find your hunter.”

  Keira nodded. She rejoined the dragon and hopped onto his back.

  “Gather the dragonflight,” she growled. “We fly to Windbowl.”

  * * *

  At dawn, Oriand followed Couraime and her retinue with Tallindra to the Northern Alliance’s tower. The Matriarch held in her hand an opened letter that had arrived and been placed in her bedchamber in the night. Alarmed at the implication that someone could sneak so brazenly into her sanctum, the trolls searched their camp. When it became obvious that whoever had left it was long gone, she took the time to read and digest its contents. Now it dangled from her fingers, almost absently.

  The three kings, Donogan, Leiham, and Flolum, gathered as they did every morning in Donogan's command hall, listening to reports from their captains. Intel included news of the battles on the border between the Hammerfoldian armies and the orcs spread across Roenti. Couraime had sent word ahead, so her party was expected when they arrived.

  Oriand followed the Matriarch and Tallindra into the hall and quickly split off to the side to sit behind the junior battle captains. She wanted nothing more than to slip away, but her mind’s thirst for information kept her there. She was starting to think more clearly again, and the memory of the slave harness’s pleasure had grown distant. She still thought of it, but it wasn’t as compelling as it had been the previous day. It had been magic, not some poison or chemical for her body to process, so at least there wasn’t any physical residue in her bloodstream. Not the way Malahkma’s Milk had been in Eszhira’s.

  “Kings and allies,” Couraime began. “This sidhe war captain has taken great risk to break with her people and warn us of a troglodyte attack.”

  The kings remained silent. King Leiham of Farstkeld settled his hands over his beard. Flolum of Cloudmoore narrowed his eyes, studying the sidhe.

  The Matriarch continued. “And this morning, I awoke to find this letter beside my bed.” She handed it to King Donogan.

  He glanced at it and nodded. “We all have received similar notes,” he said. “The question is, do we believe it?”

  “Can you afford not to?” Tallindra interjected. “I was unable persuade the other sidhe war captains. If you do not heed my warning, we are lost.”

  “Did you send these notes?” Flolum asked. His little gnomish eyes glittered brightly.

  “No,” Tallindra answered. “I know not whom they’re from.”

  A guard entered the room, dressed in the deep brown wool coat of the Hammerfoldian Army. He stood stiffly, waiting to be recognized.

  “What is it?” King Donogan asked.

  “My kings,” the guard reported crisply, “the goddess Athra wishes to speak with all of you. She has the orc clan chiefs Seonna and Thorkhan with her, and Sultan Tahim.”

  Donogan raised an eyebrow. “All the faction leaders gathered in one place. They’re either really desperate, really stupid, or really clever.”

  “Wait!” Flolum said. “This could be a sidhe trick.”

  Tallindra shook her head. Her soft ears flattened against her neck and touched the backs of her shoulders in irritation. “Certainly not!”

  Flolum rounded the table. “I must insist you let me bind you,” he said. “You’ll have to forgive my lack of trust.”

  Tallindra’s lips twitched once in suppressed indignation. She tightened her mouth to a thin line, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply through her nose. Upon the exhale, she opened her eyes once more, and her ears relaxed, coming back to their natural downslope. She held out her arms and crossed her wrists. “Do it,” she stated.

  Flolum nodded. He uttered some words, touched all ten of his fingers to her wrists, and a brass set of polished manacles appeared. Their metal flowed fluidly around her wrists and then hardened, and chains sprouted from their surfaces and wrapped themselves together.

  Tallindra just glared at him. “This wasn’t necessary,” she said. Then: “Before you let that god in this room, there is something you must know.”

  “Yes?” King Leiham asked. He frowned at the clasps. Oriand knew enough about dwarves to realize Flolum’s actions offended his keldic code of hospitality, no matter how necessary it might have been. Oriand didn’t think it was necessary, but she felt better seeing the sidhe in chains.

  “Your paladin and sorceress are in Dis,” she said. “Oriand was with them when they left. They learned that the key to finding the Stag Throne was hidden in Dis, and they went there to get it.”

&n
bsp; “Oriand?” Donogan turned, his eyes finding the troll woman.

  Oriand nodded. “It is true, my king,” she stated. “This… woman questioned me. I couldn’t keep my secrets from her.”

  Flolum frowned. “Apparently you had been keeping secrets from us too. How long have you been searching for the key on your own?”

  “That’s not important,” Leiham broke in. “What’s important is that I believe you.”

  Attaris came from behind Leiham. Oriand hadn’t noticed him before, so focused had she been on the conversation.

  “I know Arda,” Attaris said. “If the secrets of Artalon are held in Dis, she’s the one who could find it and bring it back to us.”

  Flolum clenched his fists. “Artalon is ours! We built it! Its secrets should be kept for us alone.”

  “Then you should have done a better job preserving and not forgetting your own secrets,” Tallindra snapped.

  “Like you did with the Kairantheum?” Flolum rejoined.

  “ENOUGH!” Kristafrost materialized, standing in the middle of the strategy table, feet planted wide, dressed in dull black leather with a matching black eyepatch over her left eye. She dropped her invisibility ring into her pocket and planted her hands on her hips. “Stop it, all of you!”

  Oriand wondered how long the gnomish information broker had been watching them with her invisibility ring.

  “The Black Dragon is coming!” Kristafrost emphasized. “You all are going to bicker, and Klrain—Klrain—is going to take this city from you. If you think the Stag Throne’s secrets are safe from him, you’re all, the whole lot of you, idiots! The last time he threatened Artalon, Archurion the Gold destroyed the city to keep it from him. Now, the Archdragons are dead, and we don’t have them to save us.”

  Oriand wondered if Ezzie was nearby. She probably was.

  “Now, we don’t have much time,” Kristafrost continued, her one eye glaring sternly at them. “We have a construct waiting that holds the soul of a goddess. Put all this talk of Dis to the side for now—she doesn’t need to know that. We, however, need Athra to get the sultan and orcs on our side too. Flolum, unshackle the high elf. Give her some respect for coming to warn you, and let her stand beside you when you speak to the goddess. It sends a message. I’ve had it up to here with your nonsense.”