by Aaron Crash
It all stank of a conspiracy as did the name of the mystery.
Collidium.
Robert had researched the name, and he hadn’t gotten much. There was an Australian progressive rock band with that name, and they were certainly good, but probably not involved in this. Closer to home, there was some kind of real estate called Ganga Collidium in India, which made Robert wonder if Rhakshor wasn’t contacting him through a go-between.
Maybe Rhakshor was Collidium.
Either way, the Indian man walked out of the main temple in a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a matching tie. Rhakshor could’ve been a Bollywood movie star—tall, dark hair, a closely cropped beard, going white. As a human, he looked to be in his fifties, though with Dragonsouls, it was impossible to tell. Regardless of his age, he exuded a power that Robert had rarely seen, and he’d spent his career working with some of the most powerful men to ever hold office.
Rhakshor approached him. “Mr. Robert Stains, how are you enjoying the great Drokharis Reveal?”
Robert shrugged. “It hasn’t affected my life in the least, other than the fact that my wife wants one of those generators for our house.” He put out a hand.
Rhakshor looked at it balefully. “Yes, the shaking of hands. I know of this. In Europe, they kiss. In India they put their hands together in front of their chest as a namaste. But American humans generally shake hands.”
The Dragonlord took hold of Robert’s hand, shook it, and then dropped it.
Rhakshor nodded. “And so, you no longer hold a position of power in your government. Collidium thought you and I should talk, for I too have lost whatever power I held. And without a single act of violence.” The older man smiled wistfully.
“You didn’t join Silas von Forcade’s unfortunate rebellion.”
“You know I didn’t,” Rhakshor said. “And those seven are all dead now. I am not.”
The two men went to the stone railing to look out at the jungle greenery around the temple.
Robert’s nose caught a cinnamon smell mixed with a musky odor. It came from the Dragonsoul next to him.
“And yet, you didn’t go to Drokharis to request that you take over the Indian Primacy. Why not?” Robert asked.
Rhakshor considered the question for a moment. “He dishonored my daughter, Mr. Stains. He dishonored me. And yes, he might have had a reason to kill Rhaegen Mulk, and yet, he never once came here to see if I approved of Aria joining his Escort. He is a foul young man, powerful, yes, but arrogant and selfish. And he doesn’t appreciate his elders. No, I have no desire to serve this child, this boy, who stole my daughter from her destiny.”
“So where are you going to go?” Robert asked.
“I have a vassal, a Magician named Moka Bhaag, who is new to my Primacy. He fought in the Zothoric War, but he does not like the Drokharis boy, and so he came to me. Moka has found a world for us, our own world, a place of jungle and stone, and yes, there are humans there, but they are primitive at this point. He said some of the women are lovely, and we shall see. My son, Godha, will gather some wives there for certain.” Rhakshor made a sound in the back of his throat. “Already, I have some old friends, and some older enemies, and we will be meeting, to fight, maybe, or to create alliances. The universe has become a very small place.”
“Is Collidium one of these friends?” Robert asked.
“Not at all, and I don’t know what to think of this mysterious presence in our lives.” Rhakshor turned to look at him. “But let’s play a little game, shall we?”
“What kind of game?” Robert wasn’t sure where this was headed.
Rhakshor nodded. “I do like games, and I like to gamble. I like the feeling when luck is on my side. I truly do.” Rhakshor flashed a predatory smile.
Robert suddenly felt very exposed. It occurred to him that the well-dressed, overly polite older man in front of him was a literal dragon. If Rhakshor wanted to murder him, Robert couldn’t very well defend himself. And truly, no one knew where he was. His former department wouldn’t care. He’d told his wife he was at a conference in India to discuss the Reveal. Then he’d hired a driver in Udaipur to motor him down to the temple.
Fuck it, he thought. If he was going down, he’d go out with his head held high. “You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Khat. What kind of game?”
“It’s the game of what if,” the Dragonlord explained. “What if at the height of his power, at the very pinnacle of victory, Steven Drokharis was slain? What would happen then?”
Robert sighed loudly. “I’ve thought of nothing else. Yes, I know exactly what would happen. His Escort would take over, and there would be the twelve Primacies, and your daughter would most likely become the new empress.”
“Unless I took over,” Rhakshor said. “I’m the oldest, the most powerful Dragonlord left, and I could gather up my own coalition of disgruntled Primes who have already been exiled. With such a cabal, we could take care of Steven’s forces, murder him, and I could capture my daughter. I could force her to marry a dragon more interested in keeping our traditions than in destroying them. And if any of Steven’s other wives survived? I could take them for my own.”
Robert didn’t really care about Rhakshor getting more wives, but he did have an opinion about the other man’s daughter. Robert had children, and he knew that too often, they had definite minds of their own. Aria Khat wouldn’t be tamed so easily, no, and especially not after she’d come back from the dead. Robert had received some intel on Aria and her mysterious Morta core.
Robert didn’t say any of those thoughts out loud. No, let Rhakshor have his fantasies. Reality was what concerned Robert. “And if you and your cabal took over, I would need your promise that I would be your liaison to the human community.”
“You want your old job back.” The Indian dragon nodded.
“No,” Robert countered. “I don’t want to just be the liaison for the U.S. I want to be the global contact between every dragon and every human on Earth.”
“If I owned this world, I could make that happen.” Rhakshor Khat frowned. “That cannot happen unless this upstart is put in his place, and that place is the grave.”
“Talking about this is dangerous,” Robert said. “Steven has Divination magic, and even if he didn’t, Sabina, the mother of his new child, does. And then there’s Tessa Ross, who is definitely the most powerful Magician in the world.”
Rhakshor lifted a hand, displaying a diamond ring on his thumb. “This protects me from the Drokharis Primacy’s scrying. My man, Moka Bhaag, is very skilled in Magica Incanto. He is, even now, studying the Alpherian abilities, in secret. Soon, he will have HeartStrike and the others. After all, Tessa Ross is merely a Magician who has access to the Alpherian abilities. Now, I have the same.”
Again, Robert wasn’t going to point out the obvious. Tessa was a descendant of Merlin, and no one could touch her. “At this stage, Mr. Khat, neither you nor I are in a position to take out Steven Drokharis. However, this Collidium brought us together, and perhaps they have something in motion.”
“Or they are playing us,” Rhakshor said. “It could be that Drokharis is actually Collidium. He might know you and I hate him, and perhaps we might find others, and so, the Prime of the whole of Earth gathers his enemies in one place to destroy them.”
Robert shook his head. “Steven doesn’t think like that. Take the unfortunate business in Utah recently. He waltzed into an ambush knowing full well what it was. And still, he offered them an olive branch. No, I think Collidium is a powerful enemy of Steven Drokharis’s. Maybe they hate the kid as much as you do.”
The Indian Dragonlord shook his head. “No, Mr. Stains, no one hates Steven Drokharis as much as I do. Let us keep our eyes open. I will stay on Earth for a while more. We shall see what is unveiled.”
“So we wait for Collidium?” Robert asked.
“We wait for this strange presence to give us our next move. However, we must be cautious. I am not foolish enough to face Drokharis a
lone, and whatever allies we have must be great. Drokharis has vanquished his every enemy. I value power above everything but my life, for the dead cannot rule as I have and will again.” Rhakshor reached out a hand. “And so, you and I are partners in this.”
“We are,” Robert said.
However, Robert wasn’t going to wait around. He was going to find the true identity of the puppet master, and he wasn’t going to be very subtle about it.
For the first time in a long time, Robert had hope for the future. He had an avenue back into a position of power, and he was going to take it.
Chapter Thirteen
STEVEN SAT WITH THE former wife of Rahaab, one of the Trinity of Death, in one of the new hotel rooms, though they had made some changes to it. Heridan had filled the windows with layers of solidified Morta, blocking the way out.
Out in the hallway, Heridan, Nefri, Uchiko, and Aria stood guard just in case Hwedo tried to break loose. That wasn’t going to happen. Not only did they have a stasis bracelet on her, Steven kept her core levels low using Leeze. She lost Animus, and Steven gained Morta.
The room was like most hotel rooms—a bed, a bathroom, a desk with a TV above it. The closet was in the entryway near the bathroom. This room had hardwood floors and an expensive Persian rug as well as a few Renoirs taken from various Aeries. On the wall next to the bed, across from the window, hung an especially impressive painting of a woman in a garden holding the hand of a little girl.
Hwedo kept glancing at it with her big, expressive dark brown eyes. Wild kinky curls topped her head and hung down to her shoulders. She had dark skin and thick features. He could imagine her full lips smiling, though she hadn’t smiled once since her capture.
Even sitting, Hwedo was a big woman, tall, strong, and thick in the most attractive sense of the word. Standing, she’d be as big as he was. She wore robes that reminded Steven of the Bedouins he’d studied in his history class in college. However, her outfit had any number of layers, and numerous belts and zippers that kept everything closed. She’d had a bag on her, with extra sets of clothes that she’d brought with her from the other world.
Hwedo sat, unmoving, in an easy chair by the window, staring at the painting.
Steven gripped a freedom ring, which would nullify the natural attraction she would feel toward him. He was a Dragonlord, and she was a Dragonsoul, and she would want him.
Steven had enough wives and more on the way. He’d have to take the petition process far more seriously... he only procrastinate for so long now that everything else had fallen into place.
“Do you know what this is?” He held up the freedom ring, standing back from her, between the bed and the dresser. He was going to be cautious. This Dragonsoul was old and very powerful to have won a place in Rahaab’s Trinity of Death.
“One of your bitch wives said it would help me think clearly,” she snapped back, her voice lightly accented.
“That’s right.” Steven thought of Umbra, and her death, and how it all could’ve turned out differently. “We don’t need to be enemies anymore, Hwedo. The wars are over.”
“And you have won?” Her lips trembled with fury. Looking at the painting, she had been calm, almost peaceful. Gazing at him? It was like she wanted to peel the flesh off his bones.
“I won.” Steven wasn’t going to beat around the bush. “We won, really. Rahaab wanted me and my family dead because we wanted to fight the Zothoric. We did fight them, and I killed Zothora myself. Your husband’s fears were groundless.”
Hwedo closed her eyes. “Rahaab is dead. I can scarcely believe it. I knew, though, a part of me did. In the fire desert, hiding from the demon djinn, I thought of the fight, and I wanted to know the result. But you shouldn’t have won. You were a child. He should’ve killed you.”
“Mathaal gave me the last of his Animus,” Steven explained. “I was able to access the first of the Alpherian abilities, HeartStrike, and I used it to kill Rahaab. He killed my father, Hwedo. I had to get revenge.”
“And what of my revenge?” Hwedo asked. “Do I get my revenge, Steven? You slew Bolour. You killed my husband. You banished Shamhat and I. What about my vengeance?”
Steven sat down on the bed. He gazed into her face, and he didn’t know what to say. They had been enemies and probably would be still. He sat, holding the ring, wondering what to say. The truth was hard. He couldn’t back away from it. “Do you know what the reality is, Hwedo? If you did come at me, to kill me, you would die. Either one of my wives would put you down, or I would. You don’t get your revenge. Sorry, not sorry.”
The African dragon laughed unexpectedly—it came out more amused than bitter. “You could’ve tried to say some sweet thing to me, but you didn’t. I like that, boy. I like that you just threatened to kill me.”
Steven tossed her the ring, and she caught it. “You might like it because you’re probably liking me at this point. You can put that on so you can think more clearly.”
The woman set the ring on the end table near her. “But this is the way of Dragonsouls. You killed my Prime, and now, you can take me as a wife. I will learn to love you, and slowly, the magical attraction will help me to forget my pain. To wear that ring would make the process far harder.”
“But is that what you want?” Steven asked.
Hwedo leaned back. She sneered at him. “What I want? What I want doesn’t matter. It never has mattered. I had to cut my own desires out of myself, and now, the scars have made me strong. You Americans, you think your selfish whims are all that matters. You don’t know about family, about commitment, about sacrificing yourselves for the important things in life.”
Steven whispered, “Magica Divinatio,” to create a telepathic link to Hwedo, but also to show her the past, the final battle with the Horror Mother. In the arena up in the sky, on a sand plain surrounded by a sky of cobwebs, he let his memories fall into the African dragon’s mind. So many dragons had sacrificed their lives to destroy the shadows of teeth and talon. And the last great sacrifice had been made by Aria Khat, who believed that a trillion lives were far more important than her own.
Steven let the magic lapse.
Hwedo blinked. “You killed her... that... that thing. The Zothoric are no more.”
“Rahaab was wrong about our chances,” Steven said. “And yet, we would’ve given up our lives to end the threat, to free not just Dragonsouls on Earth, but all people everywhere. Elves, humans, dragons, and whatever else is out there. Even your demon djinn maybe. So don’t tell me that Americans are stupid and selfish. I’m not. And my family isn’t.”
Hwedo closed her eyes. “I can feel the desire for you. If I looked at you now, I would get ideas, and I would want you to take me on the bed. First, though, I want you in your dragon form. Then, you can take me as a human. But no, maybe you’re right. Maybe I will put on the ring.”
“You should,” Steven said.
That confused her. “Don’t you want me as your wife? I am very beautiful, and I am very strong. Out of the hundreds of thousands of dragons, Rahaab chose me. I could prove myself to you. I could show you my strength.”
Steven smiled. “You are beautiful, and remember, we fought, so I know how strong you are. No, Hwedo, actually, what I need is more information on where you went. And what happened to Shamhat? Most important... do you know anything about those strange doors on the Serengeti?”
Hwedo reached and picked up the freedom ring. “You said you would bring revolution. I thought it was rhetoric. I have seen many dragons say many things in my time alive. I grew up in the Malian Primacy, which stretched across western Africa. For the humans, it was the Mali Empire. We dragons were known as the Nanka, though we kept ourselves hidden most of the time. I was the first daughter of the Dragonlord Marshala Sata, and when I was born, my song was sung across the entire continent. All rejoiced in me, and I was happy in my family. I had the admiration of my father and the love of his many wives. I grew up surrounded by powerful females, and I became the best warr
ior, the most powerful sorceress, the most cunning of foes. All the griots sung my name. I was Hwedo Sata. I would have ruled the world.”
“Would have?” Steven asked.
Hwedo continued to toy with the ring. “Look at me, wanting you to know me. That is the magic. I should be trying to claw your eyes out.”
“No claws,” Steven said impishly. “You can’t transform, and you can’t throw spells at me either. Not enough Animus. Sorry again.”
“Sorry?” the Malian woman wondered. “You shouldn’t apologize. You killed Rahaab. You own me.”
“No, there’s no ownership anymore. Revolution, remember? Once we talk, and once you promise not to come at me seeking revenge, you’ll be free to leave.”
Steven had to grin. Aria and Tessa had discussed, at length, whether they should let Hwedo go. Tessa voted on complete freedom because Dragonlords no longer took the widows of their enemies as booty. Aria thought they should kill Hwedo now and avoid a fight later.
The Wayne twins didn’t care much either way. They were too busy diving into the mystery of the Serengeti doors.
Steven had the final vote. Once they got the information they needed, Hwedo could walk out the front gate. Sabina would know if Hwedo really was serious about her revenge. Besides, the Infinity Ranch had become a fortress—one of the safest places in the universe. Let her come for him if she dared.
“What you are saying is nonsense.” Hwedo put the ring on the end table again. “I have nowhere to go. I have no sister wives, I have no husband, and I have no Aerie. I could find some other Dragonlord to serve, but after seeing you kill the nightmare my late husband so feared, any other Prime would make me laugh. No, I am Hwedo Sata, and I am the best, and so, I deserve the best. You, Steven, are the only man I could ever love.”
Steven grimaced. “Ugh, I thought you would hate me forever. If you put on the ring, you’d reconsider. You would roll your eyes and walk on out of here. You could find your own Primacy to rule on some other planet. Things have changed, Hwedo. You don’t need a husband.”