Old Evil (The Last Dragon Lord Book 2)

by Michael La Ronn

  The magical energy in those four pieces flourished and became continents.

  Time flowed around the continents, and millions of years passed as the dragon’s body lost its luster and decomposed into what we now call the living world.

  From the dragon’s eyes, the dragon race was born. The Crafter dragons shaped the land. Keeper dragons protected it.

  From the dragon’s ears, humanity was born. They evolved in tandem with the earth, tending to it after the Crafters manipulated it into beautiful peaks, fields and rivers, cultivating it so that it reached its full potential.

  From the dragon’s heart, the elven race was born. Just as Andor’s blood was magical, so was theirs. And they had an affinity to water, setting up their civilization on river banks and ocean shores.

  All around the world, time flowed. Below, the quiet undercurrents of the aquifer, the pink river that used to be Andor’s blood.

  And so began ancient history—the beginning of the beginning, the beginning of the middle, and the beginning of the end.

  If you listen closely, you can still hear the ceaseless ticking....

  ACT II

  VIII

  Dark’s wings regained their strength, and it took enormous mental strength not to use them. It was an exercise in meditation and self-restraint.

  But the healing spell had taken its toll on him.

  He was tired again.

  Hadn’t the grimoire warned him?

  Damned sleep!

  He had slept enough.

  As his eyes swelled with tiredness, he tried to recall what the grimoire had said....

  Cost: Severe numbness that lasts for hours; fever dreams.

  He blinked himself awake, tilting his head upward. But the temptation was too great, and he found himself on all fours, and his cheek against the cold cement floor as relief overwhelmed him.

  This is what caused all of your problems in the first place, old dragon....

  Yet his eyelid closed over his eye and brought back a world of darkness.

  He felt himself floating in the shadows, as if his spirit had dislodged from his body.

  Dragons weren’t supposed to dream. To dream was to render oneself vulnerable. It created an opening that someone could use to exploit you. A manipulation spell. A nightmare spell.

  This is why he always casted spells at night—to rule the world as it slept so that it would not rule you when you slept.

  Indeed, Dark’s thousand years of sleep went by as if they were nothing. So steeled was his mind.

  His father had taught him how to do this: “Let not the world interfere with your sleep, for it would disturb the sleep of a god.”

  He remembered his father, Alsatius. A strong, black dragon just like him, with wings that glowed like a starry sky when outstretched. At least that was before the curse. Dark tried not to think about his father’s last days, crouched by an old pond with a blindfold over his melting eyes. He, a supreme dragon lord, had been reduced to no more than a blind invalid who couldn’t walk or eat without help. That was no way to live.

  The darkness around him began to fade. It bled into the color of a memory, like a hand wiping a frosted window to expose the world outside.

  No! Dark thought. My mind, my mind!

  He willed the darkness back and it surrounded him like a soundless room. He told himself to sleep and tried to force himself into slumber.

  So far, it wasn’t working.

  His mother, Smirnagond, had taught him how to meditate, how to focus his mind on one thing and do nothing except that one thing. When he was a young dragon, she had been harsh with him, using a spell to monitor his thoughts, striking him whenever he strayed.

  “I will attack you until your mind is clear,” she had said, hitting him until his scales were raw. “If it means that I have to kill you, then it will be better for me to do it than an enemy.”

  He never forgot her blows, her bared teeth, her stern voice blending in with the pain of every blow, the kind that made his head reel as the world dazzled by in a blur. He never forgot the hot, sticky bogs where he spent his childhood, the thick peaty poultice that he spread across his bloody wounds to salve them. Even though it was a long time ago, the memories of his mother were as vivid as yesterday.

  He had learned fast. He was able to clear his mind on a moment’s notice in order to satisfy his mother. He did not ever disappoint her ever again.

  An empty mind had its benefits. Inflexibility. Strong-willed. For no dragon lord could allow himself to be reasoned with. It was the greatest lesson a mother dragon could teach her son, for the world did not understand dragons. Not when Dark was young. No, dragons were beasts to be slain because the world tried to destroy what it didn’t understand, and the only way to save yourself was to make the world afraid of you. As a young dragon, he and his parents had lived in the Ancestral Bogs, constantly running from hunters. He’d watched his grandparents die out of sport from a pack of elven hunters. And he watched as the Dragon Queen at the time did nothing, for she was too concerned with opulence.

  But that was not dragons’ purpose in this world. His mother had taught him that. Their purpose was to live free.

  To protect the source of their strength so that no one could hurt anyone close to him ever again.

  To kill.

  To sow fear into the hearts and minds of villagers in every corner of every continent, so that upon hearing dragon names, they dropped to their knees and prayed with terror.

  His parents had understood that. He had understood it from an early age. But many dragons did not.

  His mother had simply taught him what her parents had taught her, a family lineage of stoicism, power, and ambition.

  He wished he could stand upright as he thought of his parents and ancestors. What would they think of him now?

  He was a failure.

  A mark against the family name, and the end of their legacy.

  He deserved death.

  Sleep, old dragon. Sleep undisturbed. Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t wake up.

  No, this is a dream. This is the effect of the magic. Think back the black. Think back the black!

  He felt a falling sensation, as if he were suddenly plummeting out of the air from mid-flight. He tried to spread his claws, but they wouldn’t move.

  His father’s voice boomed in the dome of darkness.

  “Magic has its cost,” his father said. “Sometimes, my boy, we must accept it.”

  His father’s voice comforted him.

  “Tell me where I have strayed so that I may make my life right again,” Dark said.

  Silence.

  “I know you are here,” Dark said softly. “Give me counsel but one more time.”

  Silence.

  Dark hesitated to speak. He felt like he was speaking to a dragon priestess in the shade of a cavern. “I am the Dragon Lord. Where did I go wrong? I had the entire world in my claws. A trusted advisor and cabinet willing to die for me. The world prayed in my name and I crushed all of my enemies swiftly. For days I have played the memories of my demise over and over in my head. I have remembered everything you have ever told me; I have recalled every moment of training you and mother gave me. I have always paid tribute to our ancestors.”

  A knob caught in his throat and he hated himself for it. “I did my best to ease your suffering after your curse. I wasn’t ready to be Dragon Lord. It was too soon, but I honored you. The aquifer flourished under my reign, and I alone was responsible for the world’s continued existence. I established order. I kept the monster population in check. Trade boomed between the races because of my economic policies. I have a legacy as long as our lineage. So I ask you. No, I implore you: tell me what I did wrong.”

  The darkness began to dissipate again and Dark roared, but no sound came out of his mouth. He didn’t know if he was actually moving his mouth or if it was all in his head.

  “Answer me!” he cried.

  But only his voice’s echo replied, colde
r than before.

  Dark let out a pained moan.

  He was alone.

  What was it his father had said?

  Magic has its cost. Sometimes, my boy, we must accept it.

  His eyes burned, punishment for evading sleep for so long.

  He gave in, letting himself drift forward as the darkness replaced itself with light.

  ***

  Flames. Burning light. Warmth that made his scales burn like a thousand suns.

  He was striding across a volcanic field. The ground smoldered beneath him; the sky, orange and smoky, glowed as a fan of lava shot through it. Beyond, the outline of a jagged mountain range lay floating in the smoke.

  His mother was by his side. Black and slender, with the grace of a big cat. She climbed over the rocks as if she were gliding over them. How her scales glistened!

  His pain was gone. Looking down at his body, he beheld the muscular frame of his youth. He must have been a thousand years old, maybe more.

  He blinked both of his eyes and they responded.

  He could’ve screamed with joy!

  But his mother’s face was grim.

  He knew her face. He knew his mother as well as he knew scripture. He could read her by the slightest wrinkle in her scales, the fiery glimmer in her emerald-green eyes.

  There was no mistaking it.

  She was furious.

  This memory he recognized.

  Had he gone back so far, back to the time before he was lord, back to the time before his parents were lords?

  He was watching the memory with his own eyes. He was participating in it. All the thoughts going through his head exactly as they had done that day, mixed with his current thoughts.

  Confidence surged through him. How it had been to be hungry…hungry for blood. Hungry for power. As a young dragon he had lusted for it, imagining his entire body swelling with it. He imaged the world bowing to him and realizing that they were in the presence of a god.

  Wings flapped above, and then a throaty roar ripped through the skies. His father landed on the ground with a quake.

  It was refreshing to see his father again at the height of his ability. Sinewy. Majestic. Fearsome.

  Alsatius bore a dragon’s head in his mouth. Blood dripped from its neck and its eyes had rolled back into the head, giving the dragon’s cabochon-like eyes a dirty, glassy look.

  Alsatius grinned and crunched the neck in his jaws. The bones cracked like knuckles.

  “It is done,” Alsatius said, his voice muffled.

  “This will be the first day of the reign of the House of Dark,” Smirnagond said.

  The field sloped upward and grew hotter.

  They pushed through it, gathering energy in their claws as they climbed.

  As they approached the fiery summit of the volcano, silhouettes appeared in the smoke.

  Dragons.

  A group of them. Thick, stocky Keepers. Long, streamer-like Crafters. Their eyes glowed against the fiery background.

  And in the center, a red Keeper dragon with a golden crown atop her head sat on a throne made of fire, dragging her claws across the arms of the throne like a scratching post. A dragon with a crown! It was the mark of a diseased mind gripped with obsession for gold and riches. Dark’s stomach roiled at the sight of it.

  Dark heard her measured scratching from yards away. It grated against his ears and made him want to dig his own claws into the rocks.

  “Stop right there,” the Dragon Queen said. “I have allowed you traitors to trespass on my mountain long enough.”

  Karagarn stepped off her enormous throne and it sank into the ground. Her red scales reflected the pools of lava around her, and she gnashed her white teeth. A necklace of bones rattled around her neck.

  Her entourage of dragons gathered around her.

  The Darks stopped. Alsatius tossed the dragon’s head on the rocks. The entourage stepped aside as it rolled and stopped in front of Karagarn.

  “I trust that you will find your husband’s head in good shape,” Alsatius said, grinning.

  The Dragon Queen wailed when she beheld the head.

  “You know nothing but destruction, do you? How hard is it to pledge allegiance to me? I’ve never done you any harm.”

  The Darks were silent.

  “You would have nothing if it weren’t for me,” Karagarn said. “The dragon race owes me for uniting it. Before me, we were splintered, living in caves. But for me, we would never have realized our majesty....”

  “Our allegiance is to the aquifer,” Alsatius said. “To the old way of life that you have destroyed.”

  “Your allegiance is to power,” Karagarn said. “Let’s be honest. You’ve been nothing but poison to my reign, and I was a fool to fall for your lies. But the time for talking is done. I will rip you apart myself.”

  Dark raised his claw a few inches off the ground in anticipation of what was to come. He glanced at one of the dragons in front, a silver dragon with a swarthy face and a stocky build. “Surely you know better, Fenroot?” Dark asked.

  Fenroot nodded. “We know much, much better.”

  The entourage turned on Karagarn and advanced toward her.

  “What are you…?”

  Karagarn pointed a claw at the Darks, generating a ball of flames.

  But Dark was too fast—he fired a ball of plasma at one of her dragons and it engulfed him, then the dragon’s body emitted a wall of magic that floated in front of the Darks, protecting them. The affected dragon floated suspended in the air, paralyzed.

  The spell worked. He had reflected it off the dragon so that he didn’t have to pay the cost.

  His mother’s instructions were correct, and he had been practicing this spell for weeks.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing!” Karagarn cried as the dragons tied her down.

  The Darks stood over her. She writhed, but wispy ropes held her down.

  “You will never get away with this,”’ Karagarn said. “You will face fate for this. You will—”

  Alsatius, Smirnagond and Dark tore into her like vultures in a feeding frenzy.

  Dark’s teeth seized on her heart and he ripped it out. He tossed it in the air, snapped it in his jaws and swallowed it whole. He tasted scale, bone, and blood, and it was intoxicating.

  By the time they were done, Karagarn lay opened up on the ground, and her eyes gave a final sparkle before turning cloudy.

  Alsatius spun around and gave a severe look at the entourage. “To whom do you pledge allegiance now?” he asked, blood dripping from his teeth.

  The Darks spread their wings as a sign of royalty as all the dragons bowed to them. Magma bubbled up from one of the pools and spilled onto the rocks.

  Wings.

  Dark felt his own wings extend to their normal length. About time! What was a dragon without his wings?

  He glanced at Karagarn’s body one last time, then pushed it into the pool of magma. It swallowed her body in a bubbly blaze.

  His parents took off into the sky and he flew off after them.

  ***

  Dark flew through a turbulent night sky. It swirled around him, pushed him through a cloud. He flapped his wings hard, but it was nothing against the jet stream in his face. The smell of ozone was thick around him.

  He was running.

  Running away.

  A troop of dragons surrounded him.

  Fenroot was at his side. The silver dragon had a soft glow on his face.

  Dark wanted to bite his face off.

  But no … were they enemies yet?

  No, not here … not now….

  “The enemy approaches,” Fenroot said, looking concerned. “We have no choice but to turn around and attack.”

  In the distance, several shadows loomed.

  Dragons. Dissenters.

  So many thoughts raced through his head as he remembered this memory.

  They had announced his parents’ ascension to a group of Keepers in the mountains. The dragons
didn’t agree and launched an attack. Not even Dark had expected it.

  His mother’s advice sounded in his head.

  In the off chance they put up a resistance, do not come home until they are eviscerated.

  And yet he was running away.

  He growled.

  “What should we do?” Fenroot asked.

  Dark turned to him, unable to control his anger. “You’re loyal all of a sudden.”

  No. He hadn’t said that in the memory. He hadn’t said that at all. They had changed direction and flew out over the ocean, circling back on their enemies and attacking them head on, striking them into the sea.

  But here he was, arguing with Fenroot.

  “What do you mean?” Fenroot asked. “Forgive me, but I am not understanding you.”

  “I’ll end this right now.”

  “Now is not the time to be cryptic. I recommend that we—”

  SLASH!

  Dark slashed Fenroot in the throat. His claws struck against scale and drew blood. Then Dark sank his teeth into the silver dragon’s throat, and Fenroot roared.

  Dark ripped his head to the side, tearing out a hunk of flesh. Its hot scaly mass was moist in his jaws.

  Fenroot clutched his throat, hardly realizing what had happened, and he fell into the sea.

  Dark spit out blood and scales and he laughed. “You cannot defeat me, you coward! What did you expect, that you could really become a Dragon Lord? Ha!” Dark looked around at the empty, starry sky. “World, reverse my untoward fate!”

  He glanced up at the stars, expecting time to rearrange itself.

  With Fenroot dead, there would be no betrayal.

  There would be no curse.

  There would be no future society with elves and magic. No end to the way of life that he protected.

  No dreamless sleep.

  There would be only him, Dragon Lord supreme, and everything he lost, back into his grasp again.

  “The enemy advances,” one of his dragons said.

  “Let them come,” Dark said. He reversed, commanded his dragons to do the same, and they flew toward the enemy.