Old Wicked (The Last Dragon Lord Book 3)

by Michael La Ronn

  “But it doesn’t have to be that way now,” Dark said.

  “I’ve learned to survive,” Norwyn said. “I’ve learned what it means to be eternal. Because this world we live in now—it is just a season, Dark. The dragon race’s best days are ahead. Better to die now and ascend to greatness than die like animals.”

  “So you want to be a dragon lord?” Dark asked. “That’s what this is all about? You’re no better than Fenroot.”

  “Who said anything about being lord?” Norwyn asked. “That was never in me. It never will be. I do not ascribe to titles like you do. How else do you think I convinced Ennius to make me his dragon? He was just as vain as you, and I manipulated him easily.” He gestured around the Abstraction Chamber. “This—operating behind the scenes—this is true power.” He pointed to the chamber. “Get in.”

  The orbs leaned in closer to Dark, their knives glinting. Dark gulped as every muscle in his body burned.

  “You can thank me for saving you,” Norwyn said. “But unfortunately, your dynasty ends here. Abstraction will not be kind to you.”

  Dark started for the chamber. He had no choice. He shook with rage at the betrayal. Why hadn’t he seen it?

  Dark had one foot in the chamber when he looked back at Norwyn sadly. “Power is not to be wielded by the weak. You do not know what it is you’re looking for.”

  “Step into the chamber, and I’ll show you how strong I am.”

  ZZZZT!

  Norwyn’s body seized, and then convulsed violently. He opened his lips to say “no” but his mouth got stuck in a guttural roar.

  Miri stood behind the white dragon with a live wire in her hands.

  The white orbs that threatened Dark and Frog dropped out of the sky and went lifeless.

  Norwyn’s tail curled and Miri jumped out of the way as it passed over her. Norwyn’s body, still convulsing, fell toward Dark.

  “No, my lord!” Frog cried. He jumped between Dark and Norwyn, and the electricity spread through his body.

  Dark and Frog shared a glance. Frog’s orange eyes oozed loyalty, but then they shrunk as electric sparks passed through them.

  “I’m sorry, Frog,” Dark said.

  Frog attempted to open his mouth. When he did, an arc knocked Dark into the Abstraction Chamber.

  Frog and Norwyn fell onto a bundle of wires, and Frog’s head rested on the power outlet. Electricity flowed from his mouth into the outlet.

  The cylinder hummed to life.

  The metal doors clanged shut, and Dark banged them as hard as he could. Slowly, the vibrations started.

  Dark screamed and roared as the cylinder whirred and bright light filled the room.

  ***

  Miri watched incredulously at the chain of events.

  The cylinder hummed louder than it did before, and she ran to the computer panel.

  “Amal! Demetrius! Can you hear me?”

  Amal and Demetrius waved to the camera.

  “What’s going on up there?” Amal asked.

  “Your computer panel!” Miri cried. “Is there a power button?”

  “I don’t see any power buttons or switches, Miri,” Amal said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hit as many buttons as you can!” Miri said. “Now!”

  Miri looked at Norwyn and Frog, who were convulsing on the floor. She couldn’t go near them or she’d be electrocuted, herself.

  The cylinder shook.

  “Oh my God,” she said. She started pressing buttons on all the computers in the Abstraction Chamber, but still the cylinder shook.

  “Any luck?” Amal asked.

  “No,” Miri said. “Listen, you two have to get out of there. You have to—”

  Screws broke off the cylinder and bounced off the walls.

  “Get out!” Miri screamed.

  And then she ran as fast as she could through the tunnel, onto the roof, threw a grimoire into the sky and let a wind spell carry her down into the gardens.

  ***

  “I couldn’t hear the last part of her sentence,” Amal said. “Did she say to get out?”

  Amal’s eyes wandered to a green button with the label Power Release in red letters. “Here it is!” Amal cried.

  Her finger was nearly over the button when Demetrius pulled her away. He put his arms around her.

  Above, an explosion tore through the well as it filled with pink fire.

  It was traveling downward.

  It was traveling toward them.

  “Oh my god,” they both said.

  They held each other as the fire blew through the aquifer.

  Coda

  Hall of Governance

  Year 2040, Twenty Years Later…

  Miri hurried up the long, serpentine road toward the Hall of Governance.

  Sighing, she cradled a thick notebook under her arm. A cold breeze blew down the street, and she pulled her coat collar up.

  She really, really didn’t want to go to the Hall.

  For the last two years, she had been visiting weekly.

  She had no choice.

  Above, the moon was a large crescent in the sky. The city lights, bright and vivacious, colored the sky and stars with a tinge of neon.

  Her phone vibrated.

  A text message from Earl.

  This is your weekly safety check up, the message said. You okay?

  Miri smiled. How old was Earl now? Late sixties? Early seventies? Even though he was in the hospital for kidney issues, he still took the time to check on her. Like a father who was getting old and needed care, himself.

  She texted back.

  You’re an hour early.

  Earl replied quickly.

  Well good luck. From the reports, the old salt’s in a pretty good mood today.

  Ever since Old Dark had taken over the city, he co-opted the media to dispel propaganda. One of them was the “Dark Index”. Like the humidity, anything under seventy percent meant he was in a good mood. If it was over seventy percent, however, it was advised to stay at home, for the dragon surveilled the city with black orbs and was likely to prosecute even the slightest offense. One hundred degree days were rare but often deadly. Zero degree days were, for lack of a better word, benevolent. Magic and spiras practically rained from the skies and many people showed up at work only to find that an impromptu holiday had been declared.

  Aside from this, aside from the constant surveillance, intelligence culture and Old Dark’s whims, life in the city continued somewhat normally. Every day was a new article about some dragon who had come from a neighboring continent to offer his or her shares of the aquifer. The city quickly announced new magical construction, and the dragon would be ushered into Abstraction within the week. The city had expanded over twenty-five percent in the last twenty years.

  She turned the corner to the Hall of Governance. A row of Crafter dragons stood watch. A golden gate led to the grounds, and orbs with spotlights circled the grounds on regular rotation.

  Miri showed the dragons her ID, and they opened the gates, gnashing their teeth at her.

  Every week it was the same. Like passing into the pearly gates of Hell.

  The gates clinked shut behind her and she stared up at the grounds.

  The Hall of Governance, the building that was once the cornerstone of elven civilization, stood on the darkened grounds ahead. Gray and full of spires, it looked like a nightmare itself.

  And along the sides of the building—great, black dragon wings of metal. They made the building look as if it would fly away at any moment. They were as tall as skyscrapers, and they were folded across the roof in a resting position.

  She passed through the gardens, once green and vibrant. Now the grass was brown and dead and overgrown with thorns.

  She walked up the steps and into the revolving door.

  Entering the dark building, she immediately became aware of the ticking of clocks.

  On every wall.

  They ticked relentlessly and the sound could have driven
her mad, but she had learned to get used to it.

  An elven servant waited for her in an open elevator and called her.

  “Old Dark will see you now, Miss Charmwell.”

  She entered the elevator and stayed quiet during an awkward elevator ride to the fifth floor. She knew better than to speak, for there were ears everywhere.

  The servant guided her through a pair of golden doors guarded by two Keepers who glared evilly at her.

  Dark’s throne room was overlaid with gold.

  The floors were gold.

  The ceiling was gold. The chandeliers, window frames looking into the courtyard—all gold.

  A giant, dragon-sized nest rested at the other side of the room. It too was golden, surrounded by rocks that had been covered in a sheet of bronze.

  A portrait of Frog in watercolor hung on the wall behind the nest. The river dragon was seated on a lily pad in the Ancestral Bogs. A silver crown lay lopsided on his head. Frog looked happy, peaceful.

  Next to the painting, stairstepped up the wall, were the giant, stuffed taxidermied heads of Fenroot and Norwyn. They wore blindfolds over their eyes, and their mouths were stitched shut.

  Clocks lined the walls, ticking relentlessly.

  As was the custom, Miri followed the long, black carpet to the edge of the nest, and she knelt.

  “I am here.”

  The room rumbled, and a pair of green eyes appeared on the golden wall. “And on time, as always.”

  A dragon’s face appeared, rising out of the wall like a golden moulding.

  Soon Old Dark stood before her. His entire body was made from metal—elaborate, ornate. A clock ticked deep from within his chest, and it ticked in tune with the other clocks in the room.

  “Dr. Charmwell, it is my pleasure.”

  Miri bowed her head.

  Dark held up a claw, and upon seeing it, Miri stood.

  “I brought the final copy of the book,” she said.

  “Is it that time already?” Dark asked, excited. “Superb.”

  Miri pulled out her notebook. A USB drive was taped to the first page.

  A mechanical arm sprouted from the floor with a corresponding slot. Miri stuck the drive in. Machine guns extended from the ceiling, aimed at her as Dark’s virus scanner searched and cleared the device.

  Dark blinked hard; a small slit in his cheek opened, and a pair of golden spectacles slid out and sprung up to his eyes. “My eyes are failing me, you understand.” A black orb flew into the room and projected a screen in front of him. Words appeared on the screen, and Dark scrolled through them with his claws. His eyes widened first with joy, then with anger, then with sadness.

  “The Glorious Life and Times of Alsatius Dark II,” Dark said. “I love the title. The opening is riveting, Miri. Simply riveting. You captured my rustic, humble beginnings with the stroke of a true artist. But these...what are they called—Intermezzos? Why should I care about them?”

  “I wanted to tell the stories of people other than you,” Miri said. “People who personify the virtues of this world. No offense, my lord—”

  Dark closed his eyes and grimaced. “No, no. Do not call me that, my dear. I no longer care about titles. What matters is one’s true actions. Proceed.”

  “Well, your story...it can be intense at times. The narrative needs...levity.”

  “Hmm,” Dark said, reading.

  “I suppose I can be flexible as a repayment,” he said. “You know, you are the only one in this future who treated me with dignity.”

  Miri lowered her eyes.

  “The respectful and subservient will always survive. I know how to spot a traitor instantly now….”

  Miri nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Miri, tell me: how is the new university faring? Well?”

  “Charmwell University has record attendance this year.”

  “I hope you don’t fill the curriculum with pabulum about me,” Dark said affectedly. “It is very good that we have one such as you with a doctorate to guide the education of this dear city, hmm?”

  “Thank you for awarding me my degree.”

  “Think nothing of it, my dear!” Dark said. “Now, let us read this final intermezzo, shall we?”

  ***

  Excerpt from the Final Intermezzo of The Glorious Life and Times of Lord Alsatius II, by Dr. Miri Charmwell

  Do not let the wings over the Hall of Governance fool you. Or the black orbs touring the streets. Very little in Magic Hope City has changed. Elves can still cast magic, an unprecedented fact of Old Dark’s new reign.

  Though he refuses to call himself as such, our new lord has been benevolent, as much as any new governor would have been. We should be grateful to be able thrive and prosper when all seemed lost twenty years ago.

  Let it also be known that this world is also on the verge of death. Every day, a new aquifer well is reported depleted. Yet our lord has reserved his own personal stash for us to use and thrive on.

  He really did try to save us.

  For years after he took power, he held weekly meetings with the greatest minds in the world. But no one could devise a plan to save our planet. I personally watched him hold these meetings, seeing him evolve from concern to outright despair at the prospects. One might say that he has grown bitter about the world’s chances, but if there is anything I know about him after spending an hour with him every week for twenty years, it’s that he cares deeply for the legacy of this world. Should this book survive into the next iteration, read these stories with wonder, and with intrigue. For this will soon be a world that never was.

  ***

  “Impressive, indeed,” Dark said, handing her a bag full of spiras. “Only you know the secrets of what happened that day twenty years ago. You treated it with discretion. I thank you for not discussing…my true motives. That would have caused unnecessary confusion when the inevitable result would have still been—”

  “The same,” Miri said, completing his sentence. Miri bowed once more, and Dark handed her a thick wad of grimoires.

  “Thank you,” Miri said.

  “I told you I would take care of my loyal followers,” Dark said.

  “I know a thing or two about survival,” Miri said quietly.

  Dark smiled a knowing smile. “Cast those grimoires quickly for me, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  As she always did, Miri walked out of the throne room numb and deadened.

  ***

  Dark sat in his nest as young dragons crowded on the carpet below him.

  “Tell us the story again!” they cried. A mix of Keepers and Crafters, they looked up at him with wide and eager eyes.

  “Why, you children are the very image of joy,” Dark said. His joints groaned as he stood, looking out the window, which was full of the moon and stars. “If I had children, you would be the very faces of them.”

  “Why did Andor create the world?” a child asked.

  “He hatched,” Dark said. “You could say he stumbled upon the world. He wasn’t ready for it. And it swallowed him whole. It washed him right into death!”

  Dark made a wavy motion with his claws, and the dragon children laughed. Dark laughed along with them.

  “Oh ho! I am old, my children, but the legend will never leave my memory. They say that the dragon god didn’t comprehend time…”

  He paused and looked at all the children gravely. “He went mad from all the ticking.”

  “Is that why you have clocks on all the walls?” one the children asked.

  “Well, I myself have learned to be comfortable with the passing of time, my dears. A thousand years passed by me as if they were nothing! Now, I savor every second.”

  A siren sounded outside.

  Dark ran to the windows. People were screaming all over the city.

  Spotlights formed a message on the skyline that only he understood.

  “Children, follow me!” Dark said.

  The children formed a line and followed Dark through th
e vaulted hallways, up a dilapidated set of stairs, and onto the roof. In the cool, balmy midnight air, Dark saw it for himself.

  Between the constellations in the north—a zig-zagged crack in the heavens. It was as tall and long as a skyscraper. Pink plasm surged behind it, like a nebula from another world.

  All over the surrounding blocks, people stood, pointing at the sky.

  Dark roared, and the giant wings on the side of the Hall came alive. They began to flap, and the Hall of Governance lifted from the ground, throwing up clouds of dust.

  “We’re flying!” one of the children said.

  “Indeed,” Dark said. “You remember the song, don’t you, my precious ones?”

  The children cleared their throats. They began to sing as the building rose ever higher, ever faster into the night sky.

  Dark conducted with his claws as he listened to the city below. Singing rose from the streets, from every home, from every car, from every park. Sweet, melodious song.

  “Louder!” Dark cried. “Louder!”

  The children sang with their sweet voices as the wings carried Dark up to the crack. The glowing pink chasm seemed to beckon him, growing more intensely pink the closer he approached.

  He spread his wings in anticipation, and when the building brought him up to the crack—so close he could touch it—Old Dark reached up, and he smiled.

  THE END.

  Author's Note

  Soooo…how about that ending???

  Seriously, thanks for making it this far. I’m going to do something totally different with my author’s note this time around. There’s so much to talk about so I’m breaking this puppy into sections.

  The Inspiration for Old Dark

  I’ve always liked villains. Call me sentimental, but there’s nothing better than a villain with a great back story.

  All of my fiction series, without exception, always begin with what if questions.

  What if there was a story about a villain?