Old Wicked (The Last Dragon Lord Book 3)

by Michael La Ronn

  “Responsible use sounds reasonable to me,” Dark said.

  “Then Lucan Grimoire is reasonable.”

  Dark’s eyes widened.

  “You are destroying everything in your path. You are not paying attention. And if you continue, you’ll destroy yourself.” Norwyn looked Dark in the eye as he spoke. “You don’t have to listen to me. But it seems to me that you want to die so badly that none of this matters. The only thing you care about is your honor.”

  Dark didn’t know what to say. The bluntness could have knocked him into the water.

  “I...well.…”

  Frog cleared his throat. “When I say it, I’m an insolent brute, but when he says it, it’s a revelation.” After a pause, he whispered sarcastically “...My lord. Does it make a difference now?”

  Dark couldn’t breathe. He breathed through his mouth. His chest tightened and he dug his claws against the rocks.

  He tried to open his mouth but a wheezing sound came out.

  “Help.…” he gasped.

  Frog reached for him but Norwyn’s orb smacked his hand.

  “Let it pass.”

  Dark’s breathing grew heavier; his field of vision constricted until it was just a narrow slit where he could barely see Frog and Norwyn. Norwyn’s blue eyes glowed against the river, and his stoic face betrayed no emotion. Frog’s face had turned into pure fear.

  His heart fluttered in his chest and he wanted it to explode. That would have made this easier. He wanted to close his eyes, forget everything he had just heard.

  Yes, sleep would be easier.…

  But as soon as he thought he would stop breathing, air flowed through his lungs again and the tightness in his chest eased.

  His vision widened.

  Panting, he reached out and grabbed a stalagmite, pulling himself up.

  “Has it passed?” Norwyn asked. “Do you understand the situation now?”

  No one understood him like Norwyn. The white dragon would have left him to die. Wouldn’t Dark have done the same thing at the first sign of weakness?

  New future, old values. But some things never changed.

  Dark wouldn’t let himself show that he had been persuaded.

  “Well, the situation is terrible, indeed.”

  ***

  Norwyn led the way out of the cave and they trekked through the bog, back to the Temple of Unity.

  Dark took one last look at the temple, then at the statue of Fenroot.

  “I must think wider,” Dark said. “Why didn’t you tell me that the future was in so much peril?”

  Norwyn harrumphed as his orb flew into the teal sky.

  “Only I can fix this,” Dark said. “The future begins with me. But first—”

  He created a sickle of plasma in his claw. He hurled it at Fenroot’s statue, slicing its head off. The dragon’s head crumbled as it hit the ground.

  “I told you that was a bad idea,” Norwyn said.

  “I had to get it out of my system,” Dark said, grinning.

  Scar perched on the roof and roared at them angrily as they rose into the air, leaving the temple far, far behind.

  VII

  Alvia Marlow returned to the Temple of Unity after spending the day fishing in the swamps. She carried a string of fish over her shoulder, just like elves did in the old days.

  She borrowed a boat from a bog family that let her use their boat in exchange for a portion of her catch. She spent the entire day on the dark swamps, and for a while she didn’t think she would catch any fish. She paddled through the vine-ridden waterways and braved the sweltering heat.

  She floated on the murky surface of the water, meditating, trying to drown out the birds and the buzzing and the dragon roars in the distance. She found complete inner silence for a few hours, and it felt good, but she wished she could have achieved it faster.

  She caught a small net’s worth of edible fish. With a grimoire she used a fire spell and cooked one right there on the boat and ate it with her fingers. Its flaky, moist meat made her glad that she had stopped in the bog to visit the Temple of Unity.

  She returned the boat and was now almost done with her hour-long journey.

  The fish bounced against her shoulder and she tried to concentrate only on carrying the fish.

  Concentrate only on the task at hand is what the teachings had told her. She had gone through most of the day without thinking very much at all.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to walk down the long granite path. She tried to see it in her mind; she tried to see every crack, raise, and tripping hazard.

  She could not. But if her training was correct, one day she might be able to if she worked hard enough.

  She opened her eyes at a hoarse bark.

  Her dog, Pepper, followed behind her. She was barking at something. The bristles on her brown back were raised and smoking. The dog looked as if she was going to burst into flames.

  Alvia was waiting for that day. Pepper was a firedog, born in the wild but rescued by the Order. In her blood coursed both animal and monster blood. And firedogs were terrible, vicious monsters when they reached maturity. But she was barely past the puppy stage, and Alvia loved her.

  “What is it, Pepper?”

  Pepper faced the temple. A group of people had gathered in a circle just outside the shrine.

  People only gathered like that when someone died or something bad happened.

  Had someone died?

  Alvia knew death. She still had scars on her arms and face from when the dragons in the Order tried to kill her. Any day now she might die; she had crossed them and it was just a matter of time before they caught up to her and crushed her for leaving. She dreamed of the dragons’ claws cutting through her as they called her a traitor; she could feel their hot, smoky breath in her nose. She tried not to think about it, but the spirit of death seemed to hang around her like a cloud. Solitude was the only way to avoid its pall.

  As she walked closer to the temple, she noticed that the people were surrounding the dragon statue. They were whispering and talking among themselves.

  A large blue dragon was in the middle of the crowd, and he held a giant stone head in his claws.

  It was Fenroot’s head. At least, a stone version of it.

  Alvia had prayed to this statue yesterday.

  She had prayed to her leader for peace.

  She had prayed that her suffering might end.

  She had prayed that one day she might be a normal girl again, without the heavy burden of the Order. Under Fenroot’s broad wings, she prayed that he would have the mercy to stop her execution, that he would speak for her just as he spoke for the forefathers and saved them from certain death.

  When she saw the statue’s head, she almost dropped the fish.

  Pepper growled again.

  “It’s okay, Pepper,” Alvia said. She bent over and picked up a piece of rock.

  Then she saw the people and knew that she had a chance to make some money.

  She tapped a young elven woman on the shoulder. “Would you like to buy some fish?”

  The elven woman, who wore a sweater and black glasses, perked up at the string of fish hanging from Alvia’s shoulders.

  She bought one, taking pity on Alvia, who, with her disheveled blue hair, white robe and elven ears must have looked like a beggar.

  Other tourists at the site bought fish, too, and soon Alvia slipped a stack of spiras into her white robe.

  She only had a few fish left, enough for an offering.

  But if the statue was defaced, there could be no offering.

  Scar noticed her. He dropped the head to the ground and let out a desperate sigh.

  “Will magic not work?” Alvia asked.

  “The statue was destroyed with magic,” Scar said. “I see you’ve returned to peddle your fishy wares.”

  “I said I would be back,” Alvia said.

  “If you’re looking for peace, you’ve clearly come to the wrong place.”
<
br />   “Who would destroy a statue of the Leader?” Alvia asked, concerned.

  “An old dragon,” Scar said. “A haggard one, with an eyepatch and more wrinkles than a gnarled tree.”

  Alvia squinted at the statue. “This is holy land.”

  “You’re telling me! If he were here I would have sunk my teeth into his throat and ended him.”

  Pepper barked at Scar.

  “Pepper, stop.”

  “The dog should be barking at you for abandoning your calling,” Scar said. “If you had been here, maybe you could have stopped the scoundrel.”

  Pepper growled and advanced. Scar snapped his teeth at the dog, and in an instant Alvia’s hand went into her robe pocket and a flash filled the area.

  A pentagram floated between Scar and Pepper, with Scar’s teeth inches away from Pepper’s snout.

  Alvia tapped the grimoire in her hand and a column of fire sprouted from the center of the pentagram, washing Scar away in a deluge. The dragon smashed into the side of the Temple of Unity and a column fell on him, throwing up a cloud of dust.

  “I won’t stand by while you insult us,” Alvia said. A cut on her arm that had almost healed days before was now bloody again. Pepper jumped up and licked it.

  “What use is it to have an Order guard in the area if you won’t do your job?”

  Alvia tucked the used grimoire into her pocket. It was still warm, but she refused to throw it on the ground.

  “I came to bring an offering, but I guess you won’t accept it.”

  Scar threw the column aside and groaned. “I was told that when I saw the Order, the battle would begin. But all I see is uselessness. Are you not part of the Order? Do you not obey our great lord?”

  Alvia turned her back. “I am on my own.” She ran a hand along the statue of Fenroot’s torso. “I thought I could come here for peace and solitude.”

  “You were wrong!” Scar barked. “You ask for blessings that will never come. Submit to the way of the world and you’ll get them—one way or another, heh heh.”

  “Let’s go, Pepper.”

  She sensed the ground move. She didn’t have to turn around.

  She knew.

  The dragon was in the air. From the dangerous image in her mind’s eye, he was grinning and his claws were extended.

  She grabbed Pepper and sideflipped into the air just before Scar landed where she was.

  She swung Pepper by the tail and dog’s bristles glowed as it slammed into the dragon’s chest. The dog bounced off the dragon’s scales but left a constellation of thorns in the scales.

  Alvia pulled out a grimoire and activated it.

  A purple explosion ripped across Scar’s chest knocking him on his back.

  Gasping, the dragon said “I was just making sure you still had it in you.…”

  A scratch on Alvia’s cheek opened and stung.

  “Let’s go, Pepper,” she said.

  “Dragon killer!” Scar cried.

  “You’ll live,” Alvia said.

  Scar coughed and sputtered as Alvia and Pepper walked away.

  “So much for stopping for a prayer,” Alvia said.

  The spiras jangled in her pocket and she was grateful for them.

  As they walked she pulled out a map and pointed to Bogville, a series of veins surrounding blocky text on the map paper.

  She was just a wanderer, and so far her time on the western continent had not been positive.

  Pepper rubbed against her leg and she reached into her pocket and tossed her some leftover bread.

  “What untold wonders wait for us in Bogville?” Alvia asked, sighing.

  Intermezzo

  History is filled with dragon, elven and human legends that talk of heroic, fantastic and strange feats of certain individuals.

  However, there were no such things as “monster legends” on the western continent until recently. You either killed a monster or a monster killed you.

  Since the fall of Old Dark, humans, elves and dragons struggled to contain the monster population for generations, with varying levels of success. Monsters roamed the world, feasting on magic and harming anyone in their path. Dragons masked the entrances to the aquifer for this reason, and monsters, finding themselves choked out of the most vibrant magical areas, turned their attention to cities.

  Living with monsters was a way of life.

  When traveling outside a major city, one had to be careful to avoid carrying magic, for it attracted monsters. Yet to carry magic was to defend yourself, and society always found itself at odds with defense versus comfort.

  It was not uncommon for a traveler to encounter a firedog glowing in the night, or a Magic Eater clawing itself out of the ground. An unlucky traveler might encounter a phantasm—bird-like remnants of magic that billowed through the night like ectoplasmic ghosts. Such was the essence of travel.

  Sometimes you couldn’t travel without seeing monsters at every turn. Other times, you could walk from city to city with as much magic as you could carry and never see a single beast.

  Still, attacks were problematic, and every day was a new story of a man, woman or child being killed by a monster.

  Cities struggled constantly to keep monsters limited to the wide expanses between cities. They fortified their walls with some success, but they still had to deal with an occasional rogue, much like a gardener deals with an occasional snake in the grass.

  During the age of Fenroot, an order of monster hunters formed to keep monsters in check.

  They were called the Order of Aquiferians.

  A coalition of elves and dragons, they skillfully mastered using the raw, dangerous magic of the aquifer to destroy monsters. They roamed the countryside, slaying monsters in the forests, on the shores, at the stone walls of cities.

  So great was their magical skill, they were called modern shamans.

  So rigorous was their training that they were feared.

  So devout was the framework of their religious worldview that they were not like the rest of the world’s citizens. For them, the world was always on the brink of disaster, and disaster could only be overcome with patience, prayer, and careful strength.

  The Aquiferians mastered magic conservation, too, using just enough magic for the task at hand, helping maintain the integrity of the aquifer.

  Under the Aquiferians, the monster population declined.

  Cities no longer needed walls.

  Travelers no longer needed protection.

  Monsters became timid, a trait that was instilled in hundreds of generations of offspring.

  The monster warriors, who were once renowned and celebrated, found themselves in a world that no longer needed them. They were too efficient.

  Magic became more commercialized, and stronger—aquifer magic was not necessary.

  For a time, Aquiferians tried to live among the rest of society, but their worldviews didn’t match. They disappeared and withdrew from the world, training so that they might one day fight the monster population if it got out of control.

  For generations, they trained that they might one day eradicate a new threat to the world...

  ACT II

  VIII

  Dark, Norwyn and Frog climbed a grassy hill. The balmy, silver afternoon air was a welcome medicine to Dark’s aching body.

  “What are we here for?” Dark asked.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Norwyn said.

  They stopped in a plain just outside Magic Hope City because Norwyn told him he “had to see something.”

  After their visit to the aquifer, Dark had learned to stop asking questions. Sighing, he had landed, and now they were almost to the top of the hill, where thick smoke columns rose in the distance. The air took on a bitter, burnt smell.

  Frog crossed in front of Dark. He was visibly angry, and from the look on his warty face, Dark knew he was going to speak his mind. He had flown the entire way from the Temple of Unity in silence.

  “I want to get somethin’ straight,�
�� Frog said.

  “Are you still angry about how I treated you in the bog?” Dark asked. “Your scales are about as thick as parchment, Frog.”

  Frog croaked. “If you think I’ve been sittin’ around on a lily pad, waiting to bow down to ya—”

  “Choose your words very carefully.”

  “You question my loyalty.”

  “Loyalty! Of that there is no question.”

  “Then why do you treat me like I’m two hundred years old?”

  Dark put his claw on Frog’s shoulder. “Because you act like a hatchling, that’s why. I will never forget your father’s loyalty. But above all things, I demand respect. Are you so daft that you can’t see that?”

  “I’ve respected ya,” Frog said. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d’ve been wanderin’ Magic Hope City right now.”

  Dark laughed. “You underestimate my skill.”

  “I’ll treat you with respect if you treat me with it,” Frog said. “I ain’t gonna sit here and take abuse.”

  “Then why haven’t you left?” Dark asked, waving his claw. “Go on, fly away!”

  Anxiety spread across Frog’s face. “You don’t—”

  “Go on,” Dark said, strutting away. “Go read a weather report.”

  “You don’t get it at all!” Frog roared.

  Norwyn flew between them and his white orb beeped and projected his hologram into the grass. He whispered something to Frog, and the green dragon puffed, panted and stomped up the hill. Then Norwyn hovered in front of Dark. “My lord, do yourself a favor and stop talking.”

  “What?!”

  Norwyn shook his head in a way that told Dark he had just said something crass. Well, he did, but the effect wasn’t intended. He had to show Frog how to treat royalty! Dark didn’t understand why Norwyn couldn’t see his intentions.

  “I made a promise to Frog’s father that I would look after him,” Norwyn said. “And Frog promised his father that if he ever saw you again, that he would look after you,” Norwyn whispered.

  “Calling me by my title would qualify for ‘looking after me.’”