The Last Dragon Lord: The Complete Trilogy: The Last Dragon Lord

By Michael La Ronn

CONTAINS THE COMPLETE SERIES: BOOKS 1-3. Save over buying each book individually!

He's a supreme dragon lord at the height of his power, but there's a conspiracy brewing.

Old Dark is a viperous dragon lord who rules the world with brute force. For two hundred years, he and his dragons have terrorized humanity, forcing it to pay tribute or die.

Dark's palace of blood and bone sits on caverns of treasure. He's stockpiled all the world's magic for his own personal use, making him akin to a god.

There is another dragon in Dark's inner circle who wants Dark's power and fortune for himself. And if Dark doesn't stop his own overthrow, he'll suffer a fate far worse than death.

But Dark won't fall easily. There's a reason the ancients called him Dark the Wicked…

Old Dark is a different kind of dark fantasy, told through the eyes of a blood-thirsty dragon. Readers who like antiheroes, the Age of Fire series, and Smaug from Lord of the Rings will love this heart-pounding story of power, revenge, and true evil.

V1.0

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Level Up LLC
• Release date: Dec 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201683894

Michael La Ronn

Science fiction and fantasy on the wild side! Michael La Ronn is the author of many science fiction and fantasy novels including The Last Dragon Lord, Android X, and Eaten series. In 2012, a life-threatening illness made him realize that storytelling was his #1 passion. He’s devoted his life to writing ever since, making up whatever story makes him fall out of his chair laughing the hardest. Every day. To get updates when he releases new work + other bonuses, sign up by visiting www.michaellaronn.com/list

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The Last Dragon Lord

THE LAST DRAGON LORD

The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3)

MICHAEL LA RONN

Old Dark, Old Evil, and Old Wicked, Copyright 2016 © Michael La Ronn. All rights reserved.

Published by Author Level Up LLC.

Version 3.0

Cover Design by Yocla Designs © 2016.

Interior Art © Can Stock Photo / Mannaggia and aminmario

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, dialogue, and incidents described in this publication are fictional or entirely coincidental.

No part of this novel may be reproduced or reprinted without permission of the publisher. Please address inquiries to [e-mail].

This series is also available in audiobook format, read by Miles Meili. Look for it at your favorite retailer. It makes an excellent companion to the ebook.

OLD DARK (BOOK 1)

Dragon logo

You have committed a sin against the dragon race. Bring all you have to me so that your society belongs to me. If you do not surrender your home, your piles of ingots, and your reserves of clandestine magic stolen from my aquifer, you will suffer the fate of wood thrown in fire.

---

– Lord Alsatius Dark II, known as Old Dark

ACT I

I

ANCESTRAL BOGS, WESTERN CONTINENT, YEAR 1020

The wind whistled around his wings and the stars glittered off his black scales as Dark flapped furiously, pushing a torrent of air toward the ground to cushion him as he touched down on a rickety boardwalk in the middle of his family’s ancestral bog. The boards trembled beneath his weight.

His claws scratched the rotting wood as he stood upright on all fours. The water, like purple velvet wavering in the starlight, seemed to swell upon his presence, sending slow, pulsing ripples downstream. He had prayed just yesterday at the altar of the bone-white mausoleum submerged in brush and shadow in the distance, offering a bloody tribute of heart and lungs to his grandfather in the great beyond, never imagining that it would be the starting point of a hunt today.

Dark folded his wings close to his body until they rubbed against his scales. He reached his long neck down and rubbed his nose against the wood.

He sniffed, taking in the remnants of peat long burned away, decaying fish, flecks of mercury on the water, and the blood and sweat of human slaves one hundred years ago toiling over this bridge. How they had screamed when Dark had struck them down. How they had gasped as the water pulled them under quickly and silently as Dark knelt and prayed.

Intermingled with it all, he sensed something fresh.

Sweat. Gathering in an armpit, pooling on the chest.

Yes, this sweat was recent.

And something else. Cloth. The crude, astringent dye from the northern continent that reminded him of austerity. That telltale smell of all things elven.

He sniffed the edge of the water, dragging up a ragged circle of dead grass on its surface and revealing a murky patch where a black fish darted away in fear.

He lost the scent.

He tracked down the boardwalk with his nose low to the ground. He picked up the scent again about halfway down. It grew stronger the closer he approached the mausoleum, and he moved into a new nebula of scents so powerful he could almost see them wafting among the fog.

He licked the air.

Salt.

The kind that beaded up on the backs of humans’ necks whenever fear was close. But the scent was slight. Whoever was here hadn’t been here long. Perhaps they were overcome with fear at the sight of the mausoleum—his family’s resting ground, a massive, curved tooth that rose into a patch of navy blue sky. It had been designed for that very effect—to show humans and elves what their place was in this world.

The mausoleum was still locked. The thick marble doors hadn’t been disturbed. The coward Dark was chasing was foolish, but not foolish enough to disturb his ancestors’ rest.

The salty smell veered off into the brush, like the arc of a comet leaving celestial dust in its wake. Dark leaned into the sweaty scent until it grew stronger.

He reached grassy, damp ground. His feet sank into the mud, and he immediately realized his mistake.

Dragon tracks in the mud. That wouldn’t do.

He extended his wings and lifted himself effortlessly into the air, high over the broken treetops. In flying he would lose the ability to track the scent, but he would gain the benefit of higher ground.

The benefit of surprise.

As he took to the sky, he couldn’t help think that this would have been a perfect time for a group formation, two dragons flanking him as he charged in front, grinding his teeth to sharpen them for the meal ahead.

You should let us come with you, Norwyn had said.

No. I’ll handle this myself, Dark had replied.

You could be playing into their trap.

You forget who I am, Norwyn.

Very well, My Lord.

Dark’s shoulders tensed as he thought of Norwyn, the thin white dragon who served as his advisor. He was the most cautious dragon Dark had ever known. His recommendation to hunt in a group had been valid. Most of Norwyn’s advice was. In any other circumstance, Dark would have listened, taking a pack with him. And they would have hunted like wolves in the mountains of the northern continent: swift, relentless, victorious.

But this was personal. Whoever was running away in the bog below had tried to poison him.

Dark and his regime had been on their normal route and had descended upon an elven village, demanding all their magical goods as part of their monthly tribute. A little elven girl had offered them a dead deer carcass, and Dark had almost sunk his teeth into it when the body glowed.

Fyrldr, a red dragon, was less cautious. He tore into the deer offered to him, and magical venom seeped through his body, killing the dragon in a slow, writhing death. Dark hadn’t been surprised in a long time—very little surprised a dragon lord—but he couldn’t believe his eyes as Fyrldr convulsed at his feet.

Then he’d heard a metallic clink of metal and frantic footsteps behind him.

Dark lashed out with his tail instinctively and slashed the elven assailant, drawing blood. The man ran, and before Dark could chase him, the villagers mounted an attack and the man disappeared in a sea of people.

Dark left nothing of that village.

He couldn’t let such a blatant attack go unpunished. It could not be known that he, the great Dragon Lord, Dark the Wicked, had almost been poisoned like his parents before him.

This coward running through the bog needed to be ripped apart, if only to teach the rest of the world that its lord was invincible.

A faint glimmer crisscrossed through the trees. Dark almost missed it, but it floated horizontally in the vertical patch of birches, against the grain of nature.

Dark knew that glint. He recognized it from all the wars that he’d been in, flying over the battlefields as his dragons fought humans and elves.

It was a sword hilt. The sword was bouncing up and down in the hand of someone running, making jagged metal cracks against the undergrowth.

Above, a cloud slid away and revealed the moon.

Dark spread his wings and dove toward the glint.

His wings sliced the treetops, and the branches were like knives against his scales. But he pushed harder into the dive and came upon the running man.

Dark swung to the left and around the man, and with a snap of his wings he about-faced and hovered in the air, blocking the moon. He let himself fall, shaking the ground with a tremendous boom.

The man wore a bandana over his mouth and dark green shorts. He lay on his back, flabbergasted as Dark stepped toward him slowly. He was shirtless, with a cursive rune tattoo across his chest. One of his pointed ears was tinged with blood from where Dark had struck him.

Dark growled, blowing a thin cloud of smoke from his nostrils into the elven man’s face. Then he grinned.

Good evening, he said.

The man placed a trembling hand on the hilt of his sword, but Dark slashed it out of his hand with his claws. The impact broke the bones in the man’s hand, and the crunch reverberated throughout the bog.

The man screamed.

Is this what I have to do to get respect? Dark said, resting his claw on the man’s chest with just enough force as to not break any more bones. You tried to kill me.

The wounded man nodded, his chest heaving up and down.

You magicked a deer carcass, Dark said. I’ve never seen that before. How did you concoct the spell?

The man struggled under the weight of Dark’s claw, but a pained smirk crept across his pale face.

We forged it out of the hatred you’ve created in this world, the man said. He spit in the dragon’s eye. My family is going to finish what we started. Just like we did to your parents.

His parents.

This was worse than Dark thought. He had assumed the assassination attempt an isolated incident. There had been many. But this man wasn’t acting alone. This felt organized. If a family was involved, there was a plot.

More than a plot.

A conspiracy.

His blood curdled at the thought.

Oh, so it’s a family affair, Dark said.

He dug his claw into the man’s chest and drew out a line of blood.

Tell me, my brave elven coward, what is your family name?

I’ll never tell you.

And so you’ll disgrace them in death? Dark asked. Don’t I have a right to know so that I may unburden them from their troubles?

You’ll know soon enough, the man said.

Dark dug his claw deeper and the man screamed.

Where shall I bury them? Dark asked. I think the bog would be a fitting place. But don’t worry yourself with that. No, my son, we must first decide what I’m going to do with you.

Dark clutched the man in his claws and stomped to a nearby pond. He held the man’s head over the water.

Should you drown? No. That would be far too weak a punishment. It would make me look ineffectual. Can you imagine what my dragons would say? They’ll say, ‘My Lord, of all the possible ways you could have crushed this elven boy, you let him drown?’ And what will I say in my defense? Nothing! I’ll look soft …We can’t have that, not in light of your little scheme. At a time like this, it is important to look strong, stronger than ever before. One must have strength that seems to come from the heavens!

Dark slammed the man to the ground and pinned him by the neck with his tail.

There’s a meal that’s worth making from you, the dragon said, laughing. I could call it coward soup. Grind you up and feed your bones to the desolate, hungry children in another elven village.

My bones will give them strength, the man said.

Wouldn’t that be gruesome? Dark asked, ignoring him. But they’ll say, ‘My Lord, that was far too cruel. Now the elven villagers will rise up again, though they have no food in their stomachs, and the humans in their pastures will hate you, and they’ll kill their dumb cows just so you can’t have them,’ and so on … My advisors, I mean. I can’t seem to do anything in this world without considering the political consequences. It’s a downside to being the dragon lord.

Suddenly, Dark stopped speaking and took the man’s arm in his mouth. With a quick, ragged motion, he ripped it off. Blood spilled down his lips as the elven man lay in a bloody pool.

Dark licked at the blood and let out a sigh.

The taste energized him, made him delightful with rage. The hot blood rolled across his tongue and he roared, reveling in the sound of wilderness and strength and revenge and closeness to the earth.

He tore into the man’s chest and mauled him, ripping out chunks of flesh and flinging them in every direction. He dug into the body until his claws reached soil, crushing the man’s bones in his vicious rampage.

Finally, nothing was left of the body but the man’s head. The eyes rolled upward and the mouth was frozen in an expression that looked like the beginning of a curse.

I’ll not pray over you, Dark said. And then fear struck him, his heart swelling in his chest as he thought about the gravity of the assassination attempt.

Assassins were nothing new. He had dealt with many of them. But never a conspiracy, and never someone clever enough to trick him with strange magic. This conspiracy would strike again, and he had no idea where or when it would come.

He had the strong urge to talk to his father. The old dragon would know what to do. He always did in situations like this.

A dull gold sparkle in the dirt caught his eye.

It was a golden, winged bracelet. It must have been around the man’s wrist. He picked it up. A rune was etched into it. Dark recognized it from the western continent, but couldn’t decipher what it meant. Elves were skilled metalworkers—he needed to remember that.

He tilted his head at the dead man and grinned.

I’ll uncover your plans soon enough.

He took the bracelet and the dead man’s head in his claws and flew away.

II

Dark’s family palace was built from rock and bone, and it stood in the middle of a valley ringed by mountains. His mother had dragged rocks from rivers and coasts into the valley, fashioning them into towers; his father had brought magic down from his mountain aquifer and used it to hollow out the rocks into a space where they could live. The bone, which glistened smoothly here and there amidst the rock, was from their opponents.

As Dark approached from the sky, he marveled at the palace’s architecture. The grounds mirrored the world map, with five towers that converged to look like a sleeping dragon. The garden on the west wing resembled the family’s ancestral bog from above, a kidney-shaped pool between the towers of rock and bone.

Dark had not lived his whole life in the palace. He and his parents were from the bogs, but he had quickly learned to appreciate the perks of opulence.

Below, a wave of flames flickered in the dead grass of the valley—candles and their waxy signatures.

People. An entire flood of them. Humans. Some elves.

News of the assassination attempt would have spread across the region by now, and this crowd was the first of many who would come to prove their loyalty.

As it should have been.

The crowd sang, and their voices echoed through the valley.

Smile for us, old dragon lord,

For the world may soon stop spinning.

Shadow’s flame is you, old lord,

And this dead world needs your kindling.

Dark grinned. There was nothing like hearing his own poetry from the lips of the weak.

For how many years had they sung his praises?

Over two hundred, he thought, but when you were a dragon as old as he was—one who had seen one thousand and five hundred springs—the years blended together. He had lived so long that they called him Old Dark.

Dark roared, and the wave of flames blinked.

The people were kneeling.

The wind was in his favor. He spread his wings so that the air billowed against them, and he drifted downward toward the palace.

The vigil stretched for half a mile, two thousand people with carts of gold, coins, jewelry, and cows so plump they could hardly walk.

Dragons flew around the area. They towered over the crowd with ten-foot wingspans, breathing smoke from their nostrils. They grabbed the cows with their claws and carried them over the palace gates to the slaughter tower. The cows’ lowing was almost louder than the chanting.

Other dragons grabbed the carts of gold and hauled them toward the palace gates, where a long, serpentine dragon was counting the treasure, piece by piece. The dragon nodded to Dark.

Dark nodded back. He flew in low, his wings nearly scratching the heads of the people. He heard whimpers as he passed, the sound of humans on their best behavior. Then he crested into the sky and said as loudly as he could: Your tribute is noted, my children. Give me but one more prayer, and then return to your villages and enjoy the rest of your evening.

The crowd started another song as Dark steered for the palace.

Norwyn was waiting for him when he landed on the western tower. He was Dark’s advisor, born on the same moon as Dark. They had fought in the Magic Wars together.

Norwyn’s family was a band of Keepers that dwelled in the glaciers, protectors of the northern aquifer, an isolated group with a strong sense of right and wrong who kept their riches to themselves, a rare trait in a world where ostentation was everything.

Norwyn was as tall as Dark, but not quite as muscular. He had snow-white scales and eyes like moonstones. His wings, when outstretched, were marked with gradients of blue that reminded Dark of a glacier sliding down a mountain.

Dark rolled the dead assassin’s head across the stone floor, and the white dragon’s eyes widened as it struck his foot. As was his custom, Norwyn stared at the head for several moments before making up his mind. Then his face smoothed into its normal stoic shape.

Looks like I don’t need to ask if the hunt was successful, Norwyn said.

I found him in the bog, Dark said.

The bog? That’s a strange place to flee.

Norwyn kicked the head off the side of the balcony. The bloody visage clearly disturbed him.

More villages will be arriving throughout the night to pay respects, the white dragon said. They’re spooked and afraid of how you’re going to retaliate. I’ve never seen so many cows in my life.

Fine.

Dark didn’t want to think about food. He was thinking about revenge. He passed Norwyn and entered the cool darkness of the palace. Norwyn followed, and they wound through a cavernous tunnel. Torches burned on the walls, crackling slowly and throwing ashes into the air as they passed.

There’s a conspiracy brewing, Norwyn, Dark said.

I figured as much, Norwyn said. That attack was well organized.

Dark remembered the bracelet; he had wrapped it around one of his claws. He stopped, lifted his foot, and then tossed the bracelet to Norwyn.

The white dragon scrutinized the piece of jewelry.

It’s elven, Norwyn said, cocking an eye. This variety of gold is from here on the western continent.

And the rune on the back? Dark asked.

Norwyn turned the bracelet over and studied the rune. The scrawling lines confused him.

This I haven’t seen, My Lord. I’ll look into it.

Thank you. That’s it for now.

No, that’s not it, Norwyn said.

Dark stopped. What happened?

The white dragon chose his words carefully. He started to speak, then paused, considering something.

Dark hated when Norwyn didn’t get to the point. He wondered how he had put up with his diffidence for so long.

Out with it! Dark barked.

Norwyn sighed. The magic they used on that deer carcass—I know where it came from. We found a dead dragon on the eastern continent. A mountain dragon.

No wonder Norwyn had treaded carefully. The thought of dragons dying at the hands of elves angered Dark. His legs shook with rage.

A Keeper? Dark asked.

Norwyn nodded. Someone tapped into her aquifer and stole magic from it. I don’t know how much they took, but the dragon had been dead for days when the scouts found her. Whatever magic they had left after the attack on your life has probably been distributed among the continents already. Knowing elves, they’re using it for technology. And given the recent attack, I expect that there will be more of the same, now that they’ve gotten bold. We have to be careful. No more journeys into the bog alone. You have to travel with an entourage now. Speaking of which, where’s Toad?

Toad was Dark’s bodyguard, an enormous green dragon that usually followed him everywhere. Dark had flown off without telling the big dragon, and he was probably searching for Dark right now.

I did not have time to wait for Toad, Dark said.

Dark’s rage subsided and he felt a twinge of remorse, then pushed it out of his mind to remember later.

After what happened to Fyrldr, and almost to you, you must be more careful. Norwyn said.

Dark winced at the memory, still fresh in his mind: the red dragon lying on the ground, his eyes with a far away gaze, his tongue sticking out, green from poison.

Dark tried to calm himself and focused on the needs of the moment.

Arrange a funeral, he said. And erect a temple in the dragon’s name. I’ll be there.

Yes, My Lord.

The tunnel opened into the gardens. Norwyn stopped, and Dark left him standing in the shadows.

Is that all? Dark asked, not turning back.

For now, Norwyn said. There’s always more.

Dark continued into the gardens. That’s all I can stand for one night.

III

Acool night breeze blew through the gardens. Dark stepped onto the muddy soil, and the smell of peat was heavy in the air.

His parents had magicked the gardens so well that they were indistinguishable from the bog at home. Even the trees, broken and slanted, and the water, murky with bioluminescent moss floating on the surface, were the same.

He knew his parents would be in their favorite corner.

He walked, thinking about what he was going to do. How he was going to crush the conspirators.

He’d hold them between his claws. He’d play with them just as he’d played with the elven assassin. He would crush all of their bones.

But first, he had to find out who the conspirators were.

Were they from the western continent? He thought he had dominated every village and town. Maybe he wasn’t thorough enough. His examples weren’t harsh enough. His graciousness, his love for those who pledged their allegiance to him, not benevolent enough.

He was not accustomed to such self-doubt, but the fear crept back into his heart. The trees circled overhead and the crickets’ buzzing grew louder, as if they were inside his ears.

He tried to summon anger, the rage of the centuries of ancestors that came before him. He wanted to breathe fire all over his fear. But he couldn’t move.

His heart beat faster. The insects grew even louder. The mud and his tracks beneath him seemed to open up like a grave ready to swallow him.

He wouldn’t let himself imagine it: his body in the ground while the world kept spinning.

Someone, somewhere, had decided that their life, however small, was worth more than his—the dragon lord, the god of the world. They were after his power.

His claws should have dug into the ground. His head should have twisted toward the moon and erupted in a bone-shaking roar.

But the fear had exhausted his rage, and all he could do was drop into the mud and say a prayer.

I pray that the skies speak to me, that my foes flee from me, and that I may walk in your favor.

There was never any response from the heavens. But slowly, the shaking subsided and he could think more clearly.

He needed to talk to his father.

Dark found his father in a clearing, lying in the moonlight at the edge of a kidney-shaped pond. On the trees, the dark moss glowed a sickly green, and remnants of his father’s smoky breath hung in the air.

I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to get here, his father said.

His father, Alsatius Dark I, was a black dragon like Dark, but older. One thousand years older. He had a wrinkled, scaly face and scars all over his body from the many wars he had fought in. Black dragons were rare, and his father was taller and broader than most Keeper dragons. In his younger days, his size and majesty had rendered even the most fearless warriors speechless, his wings blocking out the sun when he descended from the sky, his mouth aglow with fire. But now the old dragon was beginning to shrivel, and he walked with a limp.

Alsatius smiled and turned in Dark’s direction; his hearing had heightened since his blindness. Dark tried not to think about the gelid lumps that had once been his father’s eyes, cloudy orbs that were caving in on themselves, irises gouged out by magic. A tattered blindfold covered his father’s cursed eyes, and protected them some, but Dark knew the magical poison was still there, working its way deeper. Alsatius’s joints cracked as he tried to stand, and Dark slid to his side before he could rise any farther.

I heard they tried to kill you, Alsatius said. Dark sensed the pain in his voice.

I handled it, Dark said.

If only I still had my eyes, Alsatius said. I would have hunted with you, my boy, and we would have destroyed the entire group by now.

His voice was frail. Dark still had trouble getting used to his father’s weak voice—he had always been decisive and vibrant.

Tell me, Dark—did you get the killer?

I got him.

Was it glorious? Alsatius asked.

A rare sparkle crept across the old dragon’s face. Alsatius reached out and touched one of Dark’s arms. Dark was amazed at how his father always knew where he was with stunning accuracy.

Tell me about the killing, my boy.

"It was glorious," Dark said.

How long did it take you?

Two hours.

His father laughed heartily. A ripping hunt through the bogs, the land of our ancestors!

The old dragon licked his cracked lips, as if he were watching Dark’s hunt inside his mind’s eye.

And how did he taste? Alsatius asked.

Elven, Dark said.

Fitting for a dragon lord.

His father paused, and a different kind of pain eased across his face.

Your mother and I weren’t able to finish what we started with the elves, he said. We’re sorry we left you such a mess. I feel responsible for this. It’s awful, just awful! All you’re doing is avenging our legacy these days. That shouldn’t be your agenda. It’s too much of a burden.

No burden is too great, Dark said.

You became Lord before you were ready, Alsatius said. I had so much more to teach you.

I’ve told you to stop apologizing, Dark said. You look tired. You need more rest.

This damned curse won’t be the end of me, Alsatius said. I’ll keep living until it destroys me, but I’m not going to lie down and take my death like some wild animal!

The old dragon bared his teeth. Dark knew from his father’s groan that his eyes were hurting him.

Dark held out a palm and a wisp of pink light appeared, twirling like a fish swimming in the water.

It smells sweet, his father said.

I purchased it from a Crafter seer, Dark said. It’s a salve. Combined with magic from the aquifer, it should help your pain.

He took off his father’s blindfold. His father held his eyes shut; he didn’t want Dark to see the pulsing eyes that were eating his body alive. Dark licked the salve first to make sure it was safe—it tasted of peppermint and tingled on his tongue. He spread the salve across the old dragon’s eyelids, then slid the blindfold back on as his father sighed with relief and sank into the grass.

Does it feel any better? Dark asked.

Too soon to tell. But yes.

Dark knelt before his father and held out the bracelet. I found a bracelet on the man’s body. It’s from the western continent.

That doesn’t surprise me, Alsatius said. It shouldn’t surprise you, either.

It doesn’t. But there’s an inscription that I can’t figure out.

His father’s head snapped up. What does it look like?

Two jagged lines downward with a straight line connecting them, Dark said.

Alsatius thought for a moment, then exhaled a cloud of smoke.

I don’t know, he said. Your mother and I encountered many runes during our reign. If only I had my eyes, my boy! I could be of service to you. But perhaps your dear old mother could help.

Alsatius pointed a claw toward the dark water, and Dark’s mother emerged from the pond. First her eyes broke above the water, orange like burning suns. Then her body as she climbed through the mud, water rolling off her head. Like Alsatius, her black scales were marked with the scars of war. Her mouth was sewn shut with magical stitches that glowed faintly with pink energy.

Dark bowed to his mother and waited until she acknowledged him before lifting his head.

Smirnagond, do you recognize the bracelet in Dark’s hand? Alsatius asked.

His mother took the jewelry from Dark and studied it. She shook her head. Dark could tell by the rapid glow in the stitches that she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. The curse had ripped out her tongue and sewn her lips shut. His mother had once had a way with words, but now the dragon queen would never be able to speak again.

She flashed Dark a fierce look. He knew what she meant.

I dealt with the problem, Dark said. I won’t let a conspiracy undo me.

Smirnagond gave him a look that seemed to say You’d better not.

He missed her stern voice—another thing the curse had stolen away from him.

With her tail, Smirnagond began writing something in the mud.

It’s time to show the world what you’re worth, Alsatius said.

What do you recommend I do? Dark asked.

Visit some of the elven villages, Alsatius said. See what you can find. Take a terrible entourage with you and show no mercy. Give them an experience that their grandchildren will be talking about decades from now. But don’t forget the kindness to those who show you loyalty. Never forget what I taught you.

An intimidation tactic. His father was known equally for his brutality and his benevolence. To some, he was an authoritarian, a necessary evil in a world that had strayed from its original intention. To others, he was a god.

I know you’ll make us proud, Alsatius said.

It’s time for me to go, Dark said, turning toward the palace.

Smirnagond grabbed his arm. She had finished her message in the mud: You will find them or you will imperil all we’ve given you.

Dark patted his mother’s hand and rose into the sky.

I assure you that this will be over soon, Mother.

IV

Agroup of dragons greeted Dark as he entered the palace. Dark knew from the tiredness in their eyes that they had been waiting for him. They had likely been hanging around the entrance, practicing what they would say.

He sighed as he started through the tower. The dragons followed him quietly through the torch-lit hallway until it opened up into a large bone chamber. Arches and flying buttresses fashioned to look like dragons held up the ceiling. The moon shone in through numerous squares cut in the roof, and bougainvillea hung in wreaths from the walls, giving the chamber a purple-pinkish astral glow. Their honeysuckle smell energized Dark; whoever had done the gardening tonight deserved the night off.

The dragons surrounded him in a semicircle, speaking all at once.

Wait, Dark said. I can’t think properly with all this chatter.

A roar silenced the group as Norwyn entered the chamber.

One at a time or I’ll dismiss you all, he said.

Thank you, Norwyn, Dark said. With his tail, he pointed to a blue Crafter dragon. Go.

The blue dragon hovered forward. He was long and slender like a snake, with short arms, and he had dark blue scales and orange eyes. He floated in the air and he hesitated to speak.

Don’t be shy, Dark said, irritated. I have all night.

M-My Lord, the blue dragon said, I have the first batch of the currency you asked for.

The blue dragon showed Dark a handful of golden coins with Dark’s head imprinted on them. The head faced left, as if Dark was standing with perfect posture, looking down at someone as they paid tribute at his feet.

Dark’s face went long. They’re just coins.

You asked us to come up with a novel way to control them, the dragon said, excitedly.

Dark considered the coin more carefully. Elves were stealing magic, and they were paying off humans for materials to build technology. Dark needed a way to find the elves who were behind the thefts, and the humans who were helping them.

When we dip the coins in magic from the aquifer, the blue dragon continued, the coins will have a magical signature that we can detect on anyone who touches them. He spoke as if he’d been preparing his entire life for this moment, and it was beginning to bore Dark.

Dark inspected a coin. Its ridges glowed faintly. Now this was useful. By magicking the coins and controlling their dispersal, he could create a trail. His dragons could follow the money to the offending humans selling materials to known elven thieves, and then to the thieves themselves.

I am impressed, Dark said, twirling the coin. Though I must say, in the beginning I thought I was going to have to relegate you to being a regular Crafter again.

Oh no! the blue dragon exclaimed. Not that.

Mint the currency, Dark said. I want it put to use immediately. Good work.

The blue dragon beamed. Norwyn pulled him away and another dragon took his place—a fat, gray Keeper dragon with a mane of spikes down his back. He stood on all fours and his wings were folded neatly against his body.

My Lord, we’re going to need more time to create the repository of criminals, the gray dragon said.

Why? Dark growled.

Obtaining the names and heritages of elves has proven harder than we thought, the dragon said. We’re having a difficult time interrogating their villages. They won’t answer our questions.

Excuses.

Dark remembered what his father said about advisors: It begins with an excuse and a vomiting of words. They know they’re in trouble, so they keep talking. They think somehow they’ll be able to talk themselves out of it. Undercut them.

Your plan was ingenious, the dragon said, but we have encountered some problems, all of which I have solutions for, and I know that you’ll approve them. You see, the elves are resisting our efforts—

Is that right? Dark asked. Well, I suppose we’ll have to rethink our entire strategy, then, won’t we, Kimber?

The dragon was speechless. He was older, maybe Dark’s father’s age, and he struggled to reply.

Because we dragons can’t bother to stand up for ourselves, Dark said. We seem to forget why we’re doing this in the first place.

Dark pointed out a window at the shadowed mountains. We seem to forget that two thousand years ago, we had one job. A simple job, really. You’re a Keeper, Kimber. Look at your big, muscular body. Surely you understand this job, don’t you?

To … protect the aquifer.

Yes! But that’s not all, Kimber. You’re thinking too small.

Dark leaned his head out the window and took in a breath of fresh air.

"The way you say it makes us sound like trolls hoarding gold under a bridge somewhere. Protect the aquifer! he said in a mocking tone. You forget what that is. Our ancestors weren’t just protecting the aquifer, Kimber, the magical river that flows beneath this world. Our birthright. We were protecting what God created. A way of life: dragons living in nature, inhabiting the rocks, rivers and trees; humans in the hills raising their crops and cattle; elves on their wooden boats in the sea. We were protecting the very fabric of the world itself that made all of this culture possible. This was harmony, Kimber. Can you see it?"

As Dark spoke, Kimber’s glowed with understanding.

Yes, My Lord, I see it! Not a day goes by where I don’t imagine the old way.

Dark paused, then continued. Imagine this, Kimber. Imagine an entrance to the aquifer, hidden among rocks and trees. Imagine a group of elves who just happen to stumble upon it one day. They enter the aquifer, behold its majestic glow, and escape with jars filled with magic. Isn’t aquifer magic wonderful, Kimber?

Beyond compare, My Lord.

Isn’t our magic limitless? Dark asked.

Yes, My Lord. You can create anything with it.

Anything? Dark asked. He paused a moment and looked around the room. All eyes were on him.

"How about creating weapons, Kimber?"

Kimber’s smile faded.

We’re the ones scrambling to keep this world from tearing itself apart, now that elves have our magic and are using it to create weapons that God never intended, Dark said. We’re on the defensive, if you haven’t noticed, Kimber, and it seems I’m the only one who fears what will happen if elves start developing a culture that surpasses ours. But perhaps I’m wrong, Kimber. After all, I make mistakes, just as you’ve made one today. Perhaps I need to visit the shaman. I must be insane to see such a vision of the future, where my race lives as second-class citizens.

Dark glanced at the other dragons. Dragons, am I losing my mental luster?

No, My Lord, they said simultaneously.

Surely, something must not be right, Dark said, shaking his head. I beg you all—tell me the truth.

You are fine, My Lord, the other dragons said, lowering their eyes.

Kimber looked at them, but they refused to make eye contact, and when he realized what trouble he was in, he gulped.

Dark’s anger rose. Then the problem is you.

Kimber was silent. An almost imperceptible tremble started in his legs.

So when you tell me that the elves are resisting you, Kimber, you tell me that you have absolutely no understanding of history.

The dragon whimpered. No, that’s not true!

You tell me that your ancestors’ sacrifice means nothing to you, Dark said.

No, please!

You tell me, Kimber, that the future is lost and I have wasted my time with you.

The dragon threw himself on the floor in front of Dark.

Oh? Dark asked, stepping forward. Now you understand the danger of your situation? Get up.

When the dragon didn’t move, Dark screamed the command again. The dragon jumped to his feet.

Why should I spare you? Dark asked.

The dragon opened his mouth to speak, but Dark slashed him across the neck and blew a column of fire in the dragon’s face. A river of blood erupted from the dragon’s neck and the ground shook as he tumbled.

The other dragons tried to step around the blood, but eventually it covered the entire bone floor.

I was looking for an answer, not an excuse, Dark said. Who else has a bad report to give me tonight? If so, get out of my sight.

The remaining dragons slipped away down the hall. Except one.

Norwyn whistled, and several human servants entered the chamber. They wore rags and their faces were smudged with dirt. They bowed to Dark, then surveyed the scene, grimacing at the gore. They exited, returning shortly with buckets of water that they threw across the floor.

Who’s next? Dark asked, pretending that the exchange with Kimber had never happened.

A female dragon stepped forward. She and Norwyn were the only ones left. She alternated her glance between Dark and the dead dragon on the ground, then cleared her throat.

Dark used another trick that his father had always used after such moments of brutality. He reverted to calm.

Yes, my dear?

Her name was Tessa. She was in charge of the gardens. She had pale, gray scales and long, twisting claws. Before the curse, Smirnagond had kept trying to convince Dark that she was worth courting, but he wasn’t interested.

It’s about your parents, she said.

Dark frowned. What about them?

I don’t know any other way to tell you this, but the curse is getting worse, Tessa said. They’re dying by the day.

Dark had tasked her with finding ways to alleviate his parents’ pain. She was the one who had told him about the salve that he brought for his father.

He could not give her any rage. Instead, he spoke to her softly.

What did you discover? he asked.

Your father’s hearing is getting progressively worse, Tessa said. Your mother seems okay for now, but your father’s illness is taking a toll on her. They’re hurting, and I know you know this already, but they’re trying not to let you see it. They hold themselves together when you’re around, My Lord. I watch them, just as you’ve told me. And please forgive me for saying this, but I think you need to start preparing for the day when they will no longer be here.

The humans threw more water across the floor, the splashing sound echoing off the bone walls. For a moment it seemed as if his head were underwater, watching Tessa’s lips move as her voice sounded like a gurgling stream.

He closed his eyes. He refused to accept what she was telling him, and he cut her off.

I’m not giving up on them, Dark said.

But the customs—

Damn the customs, Dark said. They are not simply elders, Tessa. They were cursed.

There’s no reversing this, Tessa said. Her eyes were alight, and her claws scratched the ground as she approached Dark. Even if we were to find a cure for the curse, the damage done to their bodies may be irreversible.

"May."

We don’t know, My Lord, she said. We’ve never seen a curse like this before. They’re suffering. This isn’t the dragon way.

So we let them die? Dark asked. We send them into the woods and let them die in a hole like animals?

No. We let them die with dignity, Tessa said. Don’t act like this is a surprise. I’ve already told you my thoughts.

Your thoughts were worthless, which is why I chose not to acknowledge them.

Tessa pursed her lips. She said nothing, and Dark hated the silence as it deepened between them.

How long, Tessa? Dark asked.

Months, maybe another year.

Then there is time.

It has been twenty years since the curse, Tessa said. A few more months will not make a difference, My Lord. We are out of time.

Thank you, Tessa, Dark said, ending the conversation and turning to Norwyn. Where are we with the rune?

We’ve located the village, Norwyn said.

Dark cocked an eyebrow. Then what are we waiting for?

Tessa blocked Dark’s path. You can’t run away from this.

I don’t have the mental clarity to think about this right now, my dear, Dark said.

When you appointed me to take care of your parents, remember what you told me? Tessa asked.

That I wanted your brutal honesty, even if it meant overstepping your bounds, Dark said. "I’m aware, Tessa. And you are overstepping your bounds right now."

Good, she said. Then I know you’re listening. My Lord, you need to make a decision. It doesn’t have to be today. Or tomorrow. But it needs to be soon. Don’t think about revenge. Don’t think about yourself. Think about their comfort. That’s all I ask.

Dark spread his wings. My parents are not going to die disgraced.

He flew out of the palace before Tessa could respond.

V

Dark and Norwyn landed in a courtyard. The sky above was black, painted with orange flames from the vigil outside the palace walls. The crowd was singing hymns now, their voices swelling with each new verse. The smell of wax was still thick in the air.

The courtyard was bare compared to the gardens—mostly dirt, dead grass, and matted clumps of clover. The palace’s bone walls reflected against the grass, adding to the desolate feel.

That was another aspect of his parents’ design: everything outside had the appearance of being dead—to instill respect and fear. Dark had no intentions of changing that anytime soon.

She’s right, you know, Norwyn said.

Tessa’s words were on Dark’s mind, but he didn’t want to think about them.

Not you, too, Norwyn.

It’s what they would want, Norwyn said. They’ll never tell you outright, though.

Norwyn was always talking about right and wrong. It made for a good advisor, but not a confidante.

The white dragon sensed Dark’s anger. But unlike Kimber, he said nothing and waited for Dark to respond instead. He did not back down, and he did not avert his gaze.

What would you do? Dark asked, reluctantly.

Norwyn exhaled, relieved that he could speak freely.

We have a lot of problems right now, he said. Security issues with the assassination attempt. Monsters on the trade routes. The blights in the fields and the food shortage. Humans and their declining faith in our authority. Elven rebellions. And amidst all of this, we have your parents.

You make them sound like liabilities, Dark said.

"If you were the dragon lord, and you woke up one morning and your body was broken and without power, wouldn’t you feel like a liability?" Norwyn asked.

Dark considered the question. Norwyn always had a way of drawing an ethical line, even when the situation was difficult to discern. His blue eyes radiated confidence, empathy, and sadness.

I don’t know, Dark said, finally.

Norwyn started to say something, but he was interrupted by rapid footsteps in the grass.

My Lord, My Lord, My Lord! a voice cried.

A young green dragon ran into the courtyard. He had a chubby, round face with warts on his neck, webbed feet and a tail that was unusually short. He got hiccups whenever he was nervous, and he reminded Dark of a frog. So Dark nicknamed him Frog; he never knew what the boy’s real name was.

Frog slid to a stop at Dark’s feet.

What is it, Frog? Dark asked.

The young dragon panted and stammered something that Dark couldn’t understand.

You look like you’ve been chased by an army of elves, Dark said, laughing. What is it, my boy?

Frog regained his breath and calmed himself down. Then a hiccup exploded throughout his body, making him bounce into the air. He tucked his head into his chest and took in a deep breath, but another hiccup sent him into the air again.

You’re not going to kill my father, are you? he asked finally.

Dark cursed.

Frog’s father, Toad, was one of Dark’s bodyguards, and to abandon the dragon lord was an offense punishable by death. Though, technically, Dark had left for the bog without giving Toad notice.

But Toad hated conflicts, and was always sending his son out in front of him to placate Dark when he knew he was in trouble. Fortunately for Toad, Dark was fond of the young dragon.

Dark grinned at Frog. No, no, your father’s not in any trouble. Toad? I know you’re listening. Come on out so I can apologize.

A hulking shadow emerged from behind the palace walls. Toad looked exactly like his son, except three times bigger and heavier. He had thick green scales and long whiskers growing from his warts.

I followed ya’ to the bog, Toad said. He had a thick, croaky voice and spoke in a slow drawl. That was the way of river dragons—Dark often felt like time slowed down whenever Toad spoke.

I didna see the one who what tried to kill you, Toad said. I searched the place up and down. I thought you maybe’ve left but didn’t know for sure.

I should have told you I was going to the bog, Dark said. I’m sorry. I had other things on my mind.

Dark brushed Frog’s head with his tail. Might I say that your son is growing fine and tall!

Yes, My Lord, Toad said. He tis.

Frog smiled as Dark caressed his head.

Frog, what has my father taught you lately? Dark asked.

Dark’s father had taken a liking to Frog too. He was a little slow, but then again, Alsatius had nothing but time. He gave the boy weekly lessons in the gardens, teaching him magic spells and history.

We’ve learning history, Frog said. The river drawl crept into his voice here and there, like bubbles bursting on the top of a pond. Of what it was like to live in the Magic Wars.

I’m sure my father could lecture about the Magic Wars all night, Dark said.

Yes, he likes to talk about the past, Frog said.

Because it determines the future, Dark said.

That’s what His Majesty says, but I don’t know, Frog said. The present isn’ too bad. No sense lookin’ back’n the time or predicting the future when we’re missing today.

That’s a good point, Dark said. Since you’ve persuaded me, my boy, why don’t you convince your father to take the night off and enjoy this seasonable night?

Toad shook his head. I’m meant to serve.

I feel terrible about leaving you behind, Toad, Dark said. Please, take the night off.

The truth was that Toad couldn’t concentrate when he was frazzled, as he clearly was. He made mistakes and missed seeing things that a bodyguard should have seen. On a night like tonight, Dark couldn’t risk it—even if it meant not having Toad at his side.

It’s an order, Dark said.

You’ve too kind, My Lord, Toad said, bowing.

Dark had a magicked coin in his hands, and he tossed it to Frog. Why don’t you go patronize some humans outside? With the crops the way they are, you’ll gain a few friends.

Frog’s face lit up at the sight of the coin. Toad ushered him out of the courtyard and they flew over the castle walls, a little blob and a big blob against the candlelit sky.

Shadows fluttered overhead, and a group of nine dragons descended. They were talking to each other and laughing as they landed.

They bowed to Dark.

His entourage.

We are ready to leave, My Lord, Norwyn said. We’ve located the village of the elven assailant.

Dark spread his wings and stretched his legs.

Soon, the conspiracy would be crushed, and one more problem would be solved. He tasted blood on his lips and savored the crunching of bones in his mouth. Smoke leapt from his nostrils, and he laughed as he lifted into the air.

Dragons, let’s fly.

VI

They flew through the starry night in V-formation, with Dark in the center and Norwyn at his side. They flapped their wings in a synchronized rhythm that sounded like war drums.

War.

War.

War…

Dark focused ahead. The clouds dissipated. The fires of a forested village twinkled on a shore. Beyond, the roar of the ocean against the rocks clawed through the night, and the water glittered with reflections of starlight and sea foam.

War.

War.

War.

War…

They wheeled to the left over a small mountain range, then dove down into a valley before rocketing upward as the wind whistled beneath their wings and gave them speed.

Dark let out a growl. Fenroot, the leader of his entourage, flapped his wings faster as the rest of the dragons did the same. The thick underside of his wings rippled in flight, and his swarthy face looked terrible in the moonlight—the kind of face that made dragons feared around the world. He stared ahead with a concentration that not even Dark could break. The gray dragon had exceptional flying skills—Dark could imagine no one else in front of the pack tonight.

War. War.

War. War …

The blue depths of the sea sparkled brighter as the elven village wheeled underfoot, a zigzag circle of huts with thatched roofs. Lines of brown canoes lay bobbing just off the beach. Even from far above, Dark could smell fire, roasted vegetables and the stink of fish. The village extended into the forest, where huts were built into the trees, connected by rope walkways that looked like a labyrinth of paths swaying in the wind.

Dark uttered a bone-shaking roar and the dragons echoed him. White specks scattered out of the huts in all directions across the sand.

Dark breathed smoke. He arched his claws and they glowed pink. He scratched the air, creating a glowing rune with a quick, jagged motion.

He breathed smoke into the rune.

Below, pink walls rose at the edge of the village, stopping the villagers from leaving. The walls were barely visible except for an ethereal pink energy that surged up whenever someone ran into them.

One of Dark’s claws cracked in half.

The cost of the spell.

He grimaced as the fissure sent a wave of pain through his foot. He ripped the claw off with his teeth and spat it away. Blood leaked from the open wound, but he licked it and soon the bleeding stopped. As his mother always said, a claw was always worth the price. Another, more powerful spell would have required caution.

Fenroot glanced back at Dark. The gray dragon had the look of war in his eyes, a rage waiting to be let out. A true dragon soldier.

Are you ready, My Lord? Fenroot asked.

Dark licked his bloody claw. Go.

Fenroot broke off from the front of the group. He swooped down and cried, You are in the presence of the dragon lord. Begin your prayers!

They flew down closer as the elven villagers gathered on the beach. A muffled, uninspired chant rose into the air like an offering.

That’s the best you can do? Fenroot asked.

The chanting grew louder, but it did not please Dark’s ears.

You’d think they don’t know how to sing, Dark said, frowning. Norwyn.

Norwyn nodded and sped down, flying over the rooftops. He breathed fire on several huts and set them ablaze.

The villagers screamed.

Louder! Fenroot said. Pray louder that our Lord might have mercy on you tonight. You disgrace him!

The chanting reached a new level, and Dark could finally hear the words.

Smile for us, old dragon lord…

Dark motioned to the other dragons. It’s time.

A serpentine dragon flew alongside Dark. He had a furry mane of white hair that bristled in the wind, and his claws were glowing.

Should we create a sound block, My Lord? the dragon asked.

Dark thought for a moment. He needed to make an example of this village. But he didn’t want the countryside to know what was happening just yet. There was more investigating to be done, more skeins of the conspiracy to be unraveled yet.

Yes, Moss, Dark said. Cast the spell.

The dragon scratched a rune into the air, and the sound of the night grew muffled, as if they were inside a barrel. Dark heard only the flapping of wings, the huts crackling, and the villagers screaming and praying on the beach.

The serpentine dragon groaned and ripped a broken tooth out of his mouth.

You all right, Moss? Dark asked.

Moss wriggled his mouth and spit out a glob of blood.

All in good stride, he said.

Dark gave Moss a friendly tap to show his appreciation for the spell. The serpentine dragon tensed as he watched Fenroot land and bark orders to the villagers to bow.

The elves immediately dropped to the sand, all two hundred of them—men, women and children. They had pointed ears, bronzed skin, and their eyes were like precious stones that gleamed against the fire.

Dark descended upon the beach. My children, you have betrayed me. You have turned the magic of this world into poison, and you would dare use that poison against me. I should dispose of you all. But I will spare this village under two conditions.

He wasn’t going to spare them, but it made for good theatrics.

He landed in the sand, and the thick, coarse grain lodged between his claws. He stomped toward the crowd as Norwyn and Moss flanked him.

First, I demand any magic you have stolen from our aquifer, Dark said.

Two of his dragons overturned a