The Dragon Lord

by E. G. Foley

  Zolond could almost smell the sulfurous fumes that awaited him.

  “Oh, I can be patient,” Shemrazul promised from deep in his pit. “Your spells can only preserve you for so long. One day, time will catch up to you, warlock. You will be dust. And when that day comes, what a welcome party I’m going to throw for you! I’ll invite all of Hell.”

  Zolond shuddered, but kept his chin high, resolute.

  He could feel Shemrazul shaking his horned head at him. “So be it, then. I can wait. I’ve got nothing but time. But I promise you this. An eternity of pain awaits you, the likes of which your puny mortal brain cannot even fathom. It’s going to be so…much…fun.”

  As the chilling threat reverberated in his head, Zolond caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the shiny black doors to his chambers; he noticed he was looking rather pale.

  Druk went in ahead of him, making a sweep of the apartments before beckoning him in. Zolond then posted his faithful retainer outside the front doors to keep watch; all he really wanted now was some privacy.

  As soon as the door clicked closed, he let out a weary exhalation, feeling every one of his three hundred and thirty-six years.

  In truth, he was a bit shaken up by Shemrazul’s wrath.

  Then he took off his war crown, changed it back into a bowler hat, and hung it neatly on the coat hook in the corner of his cozy little parlor.

  I really am getting much too old for this.

  Not that dying sounded like a better option—especially now. But it couldn’t be too far off. He’d best start taking a more active role in Victor’s training…

  Still amused by his grandson’s interference in the fight tonight, Zolond rested his walking stick in the umbrella stand and loosened his cravat. Then he dragged himself over to the dressing table in his bedroom, where his black crystal ball waited, and plunked down into the chair.

  He was feeling weaker than ever as he set his hands on the obsidian orb.

  It took him a moment to summon the strength simply to reach her.

  “Ramonaaaa… Ramona?” With a final heave of strength, he shoved himself into the astral plane.

  Weightless, he whooshed across the sparkling purple dreamscape to the drifting charcoal pavilion.

  “Ramona, can you hear me? Where are you, woman? I have news.”

  It took her a while. She must’ve stepped away from her crystal ball.

  “Yes?” she finally demanded, sounding prim.

  She did not join him in the gazebo, but peered down on him through her crystal ball.

  Her face loomed huge in the dreamscape sky, its bony contours slightly distorted by the orb’s curve.

  Zolond sighed. Her refusal to come down to him made it clear that she still wasn’t sure whether she could trust him.

  “It’s all sorted,” he informed her. “I’ve contained the situation. Look out your window and see for yourself. The Black Fortress is gone.”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes. I saw. Good.”

  “So? I’ve done what you asked.” He turned up his palms and shrugged. “Wyvern is in chains, and, very soon, I shall put him in a place where he can cause no further harm. I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Oh, Geoffrey,” she mumbled.

  “There’s no backing out now! A deal’s a deal, my girl. So, tell me. When and where in the real world can I finally see you again?”

  * * *

  After she’d finished speaking with Geoffrey, Ramona slid her hands off her crystal ball, her awareness returning to her chamber.

  Which reeked of smoke.

  But so did every room in Merlin Hall now, after the fires.

  Her friend and fellow Elder, Dame Oriel, the chief clairvoyant, sat perched on the armchair in the corner of Ramona’s parlor, waiting for news.

  “Well? What did he say?” Oriel asked in a hushed tone, her short purple hair dusted with ashes.

  “It’s done,” Ramona reported. “Wyvern’s contained. The Black Fortress has jumped away. Zolond didn’t say where.”

  “And?” her friend prompted with a worried look.

  Ramona shrugged. “I agreed to meet him somewhere on neutral ground.”

  Oriel winced. “When?”

  “As soon as possible. Once the chaos dies down a bit.”

  Oriel gazed at her anxiously for a moment. “I wish you would not do this. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I haven’t got much choice; these are the terms he set. At least he did as he promised.” Ramona hesitated. “I see no harm in giving him a chance to explain himself, anyway.”

  “No harm? Ramona! He can’t be trusted! This could be a trap.”

  “Oh, I’m aware of that, ol’ girl,” she said with a weary smile. “Don’t worry, I shall stay on my guard the whole time. However, Zolond and I do need to discuss rebuilding the truce between the Order and the Druids.”

  “I suppose,” Oriel said with a frown. “At least let me go with you.”

  “Certainly not. I adore you for volunteering, but no.” The Elder witch rose from her chair. “For one thing, we both agreed to come alone, and for another, I cannot vouch for the safety of anyone else. Don’t worry. Zolond can’t harm me or he risks his own life, remember? I’ll be perfectly safe. Now, enough about me. How are you?” Ramona folded her arms across her chest as she gazed at her clairvoyant friend. “Are you all right? Fionnula prevented me from coming to your aid, but I saw those dreadful vampires menacing you.”

  Oriel brightened and waved off her concern. “’Twas the young vampire who saved me!”

  Ramona arched a brow. “Janos?”

  “Oh, you should’ve seen him! I thought I was dead, but then he appeared out of nowhere, grabbed me ’round the waist, and leaped clear up onto the palace roof. Snatched me right away from them! He’s very strong,” she said with a dimpled smile.

  Ramona gave her a stern look. “Don’t go all giddy, or I’ll throttle you, I swear. At your age!”

  Oriel laughed, ever the free spirit. “He is a beautiful young man, though. At least, in human form.”

  “Humph,” Ramona said.

  Any female within a quarter mile of the black-haired and too-charming vampire prince seemed to get that same silly twinkle in her eyes—Isabelle, Ramona’s darling niece, most alarmingly of all.

  The bond that had formed between the two distressed Ramona in the extreme. It was almost as dangerous as her own connection to Zolond.

  “All I know is that Janos saved my life,” Oriel said. “And I recall he once saved Jake’s—then Red’s and Derek’s and Ravyn’s and, one might even argue, that of the angel, Celestus—”

  “Oh, you’ve made your point,” the Elder witch grumbled. “I suppose he did well enough tonight. At least you’re safe.”

  Oriel chuckled. “Oh, come, Ramona, he’s not so bad.” She heaved her slim body up from the comfortable chair, her gauzy, jewel-toned robes flowing around her.

  “Are you sure about that, hmm?” Ramona turned to her friend with a searching gaze, one fist propped on her waist. “Come, you’re a clairvoyant; how do you read him?” For Izzy’s sake, she had to know. “Myself, I don’t trust him.”

  “Well, of course not,” said Oriel. “He’s a vampire and a spy. Trusting such a person overmuch would not be wise. However…” A thoughtful look skimming her fine features, the clairvoyant furrowed her brow, glanced away, and pondered her impressions of the Order’s prodigal son. Then she spoke slowly. “I would say…Janos lives and breathes remorse. And is in constant pain.”

  “Oh?” Ramona was taken aback by this revelation. “He certainly hides it well.”

  Oriel shrugged. “Not to me. And probably not to Isabelle. She is so tender-hearted, your niece. No wonder she can’t help but—”

  “No! Please, don’t say it.” Ramona held up her hand. “It’s more than I can take right now, with the night we’re having. One disaster at a time, if you don’t mind.”

  Oriel grinned. “As you wish, my
lady,” she teased. “I suppose we all have to do what you say, now that you’re the chief Elder.”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me,” Ramona muttered. But with Balinor’s death, someone had to do it.

  “Better you than me,” Oriel said, giving her an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

  Ramona sent her a grateful smile. “Now, then. You must promise me you will tell no one of my plans to meet with Zolond.”

  Her friend rolled her eyes with a great sigh.

  “Oriel!”

  “I will keep silent,” she agreed. “But I still think it’s a terrible idea.”

  Ramona arched a brow. “Sometimes a terrible idea is the only kind one has.”

  If she was honest with herself, though, Ramona was excited at the prospect of seeing Geoffrey again after all this time.

  She told herself they were only meeting on magical business. High-level negotiations, face to face. It was her duty!

  Now that she was the head witch of the Order, and Zolond remained ruler of the Dark Druids, the possibility of a lasting peace between their sides seemed closer than ever.

  Maybe that was why fate had brought them together in the first place.

  But her clairvoyant friend knew better. With a smile and a comforting pat on the back, Oriel followed Ramona out of her chambers. Then both women headed back outside to see what else they could do to help.

  Another little troop of gnomes trudged past them in the white marble hallway. The grumpy, knee-high servants were carrying rags and cleaning supplies; one rested a wee broom over his shoulder.

  “Poor things,” Oriel whispered after they’d passed. “We lost a lot of them tonight. They fought bravely, as best they could.”

  Ramona gave a sad nod. Her thoughts returned to Balinor. “We have more vacancies to fill on the panel of Elders.”

  “Hmm, you’re right. We need a shapeshifter, for starters.”

  They turned a corner and continued down the next hallway, where another elvish healer finished binding the knee of a wounded centaur.

  “They’re going to put me out to pasture,” the centaur groaned.

  “Nonsense.” The healer rose. “Just keep your weight off that hoof for a few weeks.”

  “Ahem! Your Ladyships,” the centaur said, seeing Ramona and Oriel approaching.

  Alerted to their presence, the silken-haired wood elf rose gracefully and turned. Then both creatures bowed with respect to the two old ladies. Ramona managed a smile, though it was not nearly as warm as her friend’s.

  Oriel had always been the sociable type; Ramona was usually all business.

  Unfortunately, though, as head Elder, Ramona supposed it was her duty to comfort everyone, so she mumbled vague reassurances to the anxious pair as she went by. It seemed to help. The centaur quit whining and the she-elf hurried on to seek her next patient.

  “You know,” Oriel remarked as they reached the top of the grand staircase, “Sir Peter could take your old post, representing the mages.”

  Ramona nodded. “He certainly deserves it.”

  “He’s very capable,” Oriel agreed.

  Below them, the lobby was still in chaos, but at least there were no more Noxu. They exchanged a bracing glance, then started down the stairs.

  “I must say, I’m worried about him, though.” Ramona glanced at her friend. “He might be smiling on the outside, but Jillian’s the center of his world. Do you think she’ll ever forgive him for accusing her of treason?”

  “In time. But…I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Oriel grimaced.

  “I’ll have to apologize to the poor woman myself. I fell for Wyvern’s deception as much as Peter did. When I saw Jillian couldn’t speak, I, too, thought she was the traitor.”

  “It was a dirty trick Wyvern played on us all,” Oriel said with a scowl. Then they came to the bottom of the stairs. “Where to, chief?”

  Ramona looked around, ignoring the groans of the wounded and the weeping of the bereaved. “I need to find Derek Stone.”

  “Why? Are you going to send him to bring back the children now?”

  “Not yet. They’ll be fine. They’ve quite proven they can take care of themselves.”

  “Do you know where they went?”

  “No idea,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll get in contact with little Miss O’Dell in an hour or so. There’s too much else to do at the moment.” She nodded toward a pair of muscular Guardians carrying a dead Noxu mercenary out of the palace, leaving a trail of blackish-red blood droplets behind them as they went. The half-troll’s blood was still dripping from its tusked snout.

  Oriel grimaced. “Quite right. They’re much better off elsewhere until all this is sorted.”

  “Indeed, having another of their adventures,” Ramona said with a sardonic smile.

  “All right, then.” Oriel propped her hands on her waist. “What shall I do?”

  “Go and let Finnderool know it’s safe now to let the children and other civilians out of the library basement.”

  Oriel nodded and started to turn away, then paused. “Why do you want Derek Stone, anyway, if not to bring the children back?”

  “Because”—Ramona gave her a conspiratorial smile—“I’m going to make him an Elder.”

  “Head Guardian?” Oriel gasped, then laughed as Ramona chuckled. “Oh, in that case, I am coming with you. I’ll go pass your orders on to Finnderool in a moment. First, I have got to see Derek’s face when you tell him he’s been promoted.”

  Ramona grinned. “Do you think he’ll be surprised?”

  Oriel giggled. “I think the great warrior might faint!”

  At that moment, they spotted young Maddox St. Trinian helping carry out another dead troll. Ramona summoned the lad and asked him if he had seen his mentor.

  “Yes, ma’am, he’s questioning Waldrick Everton in the jail.” Maddox pointed to the small, squat building across the dark grounds. “Shall I escort you ladies?”

  “No need. We can see ourselves there,” Ramona said. “Carry on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Maddox sketched a bow, then strode back to his grim task, and the two Elders continued on their way.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Defector

  Though not exactly thrilled to find himself a prisoner once more, Waldrick Everton was grateful at the moment for the rusty iron bars of his cell, as they kept certain angry Guardians of his acquaintance out.

  The hard, scruffy face of Derek Stone glared at him through this meager barrier: the square jaw clenched, one cheek bruised, his broad forehead smudged with black smoke from the battle.

  It was downright unnerving, especially by the flickering illumination of the lanterns hung from the little jail’s low ceiling.

  Derek’s steel-gray eyes gleamed with a vengeance that could’ve pierced armor.

  Waldrick could not deny the warrior had cause.

  Egads. Jake’s wicked uncle knew full well that the brawny fighter hated him.

  Unfortunately, Derek Stone was the least of his worries, for Waldrick had made a great many powerful enemies tonight, when he had switched sides.

  Again.

  He was trying not to think about what each of the terrifying Dark Druids might do to him for this if they ever got the chance.

  The knowledge that he’d earned the monstrous Lord Wyvern’s wrath made Waldrick yearn to dive under the covers of the cot in his cell and hide until his lanky knees stopped knocking.

  Why, oh, why were these sorts of dreadful things always happening to him?

  He felt quite sorry for himself about it all. Surely no man in history had ever been caught between such a terrible rock and a hard place before—or in his case, a Stone.

  His situation was stark. But after what he had done tonight, defecting from the Dark Druids, Waldrick knew the protection of the Order was his only hope of long-term survival.

  He had information to barter about the Dark Druids’ plans.

  Of course, Waldrick was well aware that everyone here despis
ed him. Especially longtime family friend Derek—Mr. No Fun—ever noble and true, he thought cynically.

  The two of them had a long, unpleasant history together; in their boyhood, Derek had been best friends with Waldrick’s elder brother, Jacob, the firstborn, Jake’s charismatic father.

  Why, the warrior had even been the best man at Jacob and Elizabeth’s wedding. Of course Jacob hadn’t picked Waldrick for the honor—his own brother!

  Instead, he’d chosen this commoner.

  When Derek grasped the iron bars at that moment to lean on them after his exertions in the battle, Waldrick jolted backward with a small shriek. “Stay back! You’re not allowed to come in here!”

  Derek’s lips crooked in a half-smile that made his rugged face even more terrifying—a dark, angry lion of a man.

  Waldrick gulped and kept his distance from the rough-mannered nobody. It was true, Jacob used to put up with a lot from Waldrick when they were boys. He had to; Waldrick was his little brother.

  But even in childhood, Waldrick always got the feeling that his brother’s rough-and-tumble friend could see right through him. Perhaps, even all those years ago, Derek’s latent Guardian instincts had sensed that Waldrick’s seething resentment of his glorious, golden-haired, older brother sometimes grew ugly and spiteful.

  Waldrick did not deny he had let his jealousy of Jacob get the best of him once, years ago.

  But there was still time to fix his mistake.

  And that was why he had done this suicidal thing tonight, betraying Lord Wyvern and all his hideous allies.

  To undo his crime.

  “What are you playing at—Wally?” Derek taunted, still pinning him in an icy stare. “Is this some sort of trick? I know you think you’re very clever.”

  “It’s no game.” Waldrick managed to ignore the boyhood nickname he had always hated. “Look, I know you don’t like me—”

  “Like you? You killed my best friend. And murdered his wife.”

  “But I didn’t—that’s just it!” Waldrick cried. “I mean, I thought I did—yes, very well, I tried, I admit it—but I failed! That’s what I’m telling you! You know my case; you heard every word of my trial before the Elders. Fionnula coated the bullets in my pistol with some mad potion that turned them into, I dunno, mere magic pellets that didn’t kill Jacob and Elizabeth, but only put them in a state that mimicked death! They’re alive, Stone. I’ve seen them with my own two eyes.”