Old Dark (The Last Dragon Lord Book 1) Read online

  “There’s a conspiracy brewing, Norwyn.”

  “I figured as much. 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?”

  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.”

  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!” he 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?”

  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,” he 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. 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. There’s always more.”

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

  III

  A cool 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.

  He 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, 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 magic 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.”

  “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?”

  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.”

  “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?”

  “Elven.”

  “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. 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.<
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  “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. 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. 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.”

  Alsatius thought for a moment, then exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I don’t know. 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?”

  “Visit some of the elven villages. 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

  A group 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, 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. 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.”

  “Why?” Dark growled.

  “Obtaining the names and heritages of elves has proven harder than we thought. 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, 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. 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, the old dragon’s eyes 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?”