When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set Read online

  WHEN DRAGONS DIE

  The Complete Edition

  by

  K. Scott Lewis

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either fictitious or are used fictionally. Any resemblances to real people or places are coincidental and unintentional.

  WHEN DRAGONS DIE (THE COMPLETE EDITION)

  Copyright © 2013 by Kyle Scott Lewis

  Map Illustrations by Kyle Scott Lewis, Copyright © 2012

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  The Ahmbren Chronicles® is a registered trademark of Kyle Scott Lewis.

  Cover Art by John Lewis, Copyright © 2012

  Cover Design by Erin Cooper, Copyright © 2013

  For more info on Ahmbren, including an online atlas, visit the author’s website at www.ahmbren.com

  Edited by Tammy Salyer

  Electronic edition, v4.0, April 2017

  For those who seek Joy in Living

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to Patrick, Eva, and Natalie for your encouragement and feedback throughout the writing process. Thanks to my brother John for taking the description of the city of Artalon and translating it into the cover art. Thanks to my wife Alicia for making me draw maps, and more importantly, her patience. Last but not least, thanks to Tammy for the keen eye and professional polish.

  Author’s Note

  In the real world, myths conflict with each other, and people’s beliefs and interpretations get in the way of fact. The reader should be aware of this and not entirely trust the Narrator, as the Narrator reflects the beliefs of the character’s point of view. If the Narrator shows you an action, then you can trust that “it happened that way.” However, if the Narrator tells you something, it merely reflects the character’s understanding, or popular belief at the time. It may or may not be “true.” Lore revealed through the mouths of characters is only as reliable as the characters themselves.

  The author has made certain stylistic choices to denote items of great import in the world. There are many champions, but only one Champion. There are many dragons, but only four Dragons. There are many realms with thrones, but only nine Realms with Thrones. There are many courts, but only nine sidhe Courts. Capitalized ideals and archetypes, such as the Warrior or the Consoler, refer to honorifics for their respective gods. “Myself” and “yourself” are distinct from “my self” and “your self” in specific instances. In these grammatically nonstandard cases, the separation indicates a philosophical idea, akin to “soul”, where the concept of “self” is being considered as a separate and distinct part of the person.

  WHEN DRAGONS DIE

  “I will devour this world and all worlds across the stars.”

  ~ Klrain, the Black Dragon

  And so Athra, Goddess of Wisdom, and her son, Keruhn, Consoler of Mortals, and her father, Daag, Father God of Time and Destiny, appeared before them, and the Dragons bowed in homage in the presence of the Blessed Trinity.

  “You must break the cycle,” Athra commanded.

  “You must work from within mortal history,” Keruhn commanded.

  “But it is not your destiny to defeat the Black Dragon,” Daag declared. “A Champion must arise, neither dragon nor god, who can wield the power of both to slay Klrain the Black.”

  “We will send our dreamwalkers into the world,” Archurion answered. “Eldrikura, Graelyn, and I will humble ourselves and be born to mortal form so that we might become participants from within history. We will find the Champion and surrender our power unto him. We will guide him to fulfill this purpose.”

  ~ Lost Writings of the prophet Sorel

  Empires fall and gods return when Dragons die.

  When Dragons die, Life returns through Summer’s Land.

  The gods stir in mortal hearts, when Dragons die.

  When Dragons die, Light ignites Hope’s fiery hearth.

  From the ashes the ages Turn, when Dragons die.

  When Dragons die, Time’s wayward son veils prophets’ eyes.

  If all who live are not reborn when Dragons die,

  When Dragons die, the Dark shall rise again.

  ~ Sorel’s Final Lamentation

  Forward to the Trilogy Edition

  I began this story somewhere around Christmas 2010 in Kabul, Afghanistan. It was my second deployment there, and what better way to spend the evening hours off duty than opening the word processor and starting over—for real this time—on the fantasy story I’d been tinkering with since I was a kid. I told myself: “Self, you’re going to finish this book. And it’s not going to suck. You’re going to leave some things open to interpretation so that when you grow and change in your views, the book’s world can grow with you.”

  When I was a child, my mother read to me tales of Greek, Norse, and Celtic myths from a book called The Firebringer. Those old tales awakened an interest in epic stories of heroes performing remarkable deeds for remarkable purposes. Still young when we moved to Italy, I was fascinated by old Roman shrines, classical art, and the grotto in Sperlonga where they discovered a villa of Tiberius containing life-size sculptures of Odysseus blinding the Cyclops. Eventually, reading Tolkien's works in the sixth grade all but sealed the deal for a lifelong love affair with epic fantasy.

  From then on, I started writing stories and mapping out my own fantasy worlds. I scrapped and restarted the mythos many times, but through them all I carried forward some elements and characters into new incarnations. At first, Valkrage the Violet was a purple dragon who appeared as an elf. Then I used his name for one of my computer game characters in The Bard's Tale II, Destiny Knight on the Apple ][c. He also made appearances as a mortal magic-user in our neighborhood Dungeons and Dragons games. For over a decade of story-telling, he remained a normal, but notable, mortal wizard in Artalon’s lore. I eventually developed darker edges to his character concept, making him one of good intentions but perhaps not all that sane. Thus, he was returned to the concept of an incarnation of a calculating god-like dragon, for whom the ends justified all means, and it wasn't until this latest incarnation that he turned out to be gay. All my characters have similar lines of development, their stories and concepts evolving over time.

  The concept of Artalon worked its way into the lore while I was in high school, as the imperial seat of the Shadowlord Aaron. Aaron was originally a good guy, a sort of demigod who was nearly perfect and almost all powerful. Making such a character interesting proved difficult, and he quickly became relegated to supporting cast in favor of mortal, imperfect characters who struggled. His concept also darkened over time, influenced by my own growth beyond seeing the world in terms of black and white.

  For a while, I relegated the city of Artalon to the sidelines, a convenient historical backdrop for other fantasy adventures. It evolved into a sort of undefined Atlantis, a magical city that has been used for good and bad, with cycles of rising, being cataclysmically destroyed, forgotten in time, and then returning. It is now again a central force in this world’s lore.

  I never before finished any of the books I started. The problem usually stemmed from projecting too much of my own religious or philosophical beliefs into the story. As my own worldview evolved—as worldviews tend to do when we grow—the stories ceased to resonate. I no longer cared for characters that were mouthpieces for visible gods… visible gods who were essentially mouthpieces for my discarded views that beat the reader with a big “This Is How It Is!” stick. Ugh.

  Although Artalon and the primary characters endured as constants through various incarnations, the world
itself was renamed several times. As I sat down to reboot the mythos yet again in that winter in 2010 in Kabul, I imagined a new name, Ahmbren, to signify the reboot of the world, with new maps, new places, and new characters. And a new direction: the narrator is only as smart as the character, and characters’ opinions are just that, and the reader can disagree with them. The narrator should never decide, for the reader, the big questions: afterlife, transcendent Higher Power, or the like. Different characters will have different takes, and maybe one view will “win” and leave its mark on the world in one book, with a different character’s view impacting the world in another book. And that’s okay.

  I carried forward the main epic story: the idea of the three good dragons working to raise a champion, Aaron, to destroy the evil Black Dragon. I kept most of the central themes of Artalon as an Atlantis/Avalon amalgam, and the characters of Valkrage, Kaldor, and Graelyn as incarnate avatars of these three good dragons.

  And so, in Afghanistan after each duty day ended, while others were watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy, I opened my word processor and started thumping out Valkrage’s journey as a young man, before he knew he was the incarnation of the Violet Dragon. I was determined to write their story, and hopefully finish it this time!

  But then I got distracted. For a moment I thought, “What happens after the Black Dragon’s death? Do any of the dragons survive? No.” And with the intention of quickly jotting down some notes lest I forget, fully intending to get to the aftermath story only after finishing the tale of Valkrage and the other avatars, I opened a new file and Aradma made lightfall on the slopes of Windbowl…

  And so the book you now hold in your hands represents what happens after all of this lore. This is a new generation of characters living in the world that my childhood heroes shaped. Society and technology have advanced beyond pure high fantasy, and while magic still plays a large role in Ahmbren, there is also steam-powered and gear-crafted gadgetry. Gunpowder and firearms play an increasingly important role in the world as the great equalizer of mortalkind. The ability to wield deadly power is no longer limited to those who are naturally strong (warriors) or those who are highly intelligent and magically gifted (wizards).

  For this trilogy edition, I’ve moved all the separate appendices into one combined section at the back. It’s been noted by some readers that exposure to the appendices from Lightfall, Old Archurionite Mythology and Peoples and Cultures, provides useful information and context prior to reading. If you want to read the Appendices first for world background, go right ahead. The only one that contains spoilers is the appendix on History.

  ~K. Scott Lewis, November 2013

  LIGHTFALL

  PROLOGUE

  The Last Battle

  Valkrage looked out over the brilliant twinkling of the nighttime skyline of Artalon from the palace apartments at the top of the city’s central tower. The elven incarnation of the Violet Dragon wrapped his velvet robes tightly around himself to guard against the chill winter air.

  “I must do this alone,” the God-King had told him before he left. “You know this. Once Klrain awakens, you would not survive. You must live through this. I cannot imagine returning home and not having you in my life.”

  The God-King, Aaron, had left for Dragonholm forty days earlier to slay the Black Dragon. Valkrage still waited on the balcony to his lover’s throne room, fixated southeast towards the battle that raged across the sea. On that first night he had felt the mind of the Black Dragon awaken, the Evil One’s consciousness reverberating through the world for those who could sense it. Shortly thereafter, he felt the Green Dragon’s presence emerge from dragonsleep to fight at Aaron’s side.

  The battle continued.

  A faint glow shone in the distance and then disappeared. A great column of light descended from the sky, tiny and far away, touching the horizon in the center of Dragonholm before it too faded. A moment later, Valkrage’s knees swayed, and a piercing ache stabbed his heart. He fell forward, catching himself on the balcony rail. He clutched at his breast and gasped. He knew what this meant. The body of the Violet Dragon, his greater self, was destroyed. His last hope of leaving this mortal shell and returning to the fullness of Eldrikura had vanished.

  Aaron had finally won. Their Champion completed his purpose. He had done what the Three—the Gold, the Violet, and the Green—could not. The Black Dragon was dead.

  The comatose body of the Violet Dragon had been too close to the battle. Valkrage presumed the Gold Dragon shared the same fate. And the Green? Where was she? She had awakened to join in the fight, but he could not feel her presence. She must have perished fighting at Aaron’s side…

  Valkrage’s heart broke, and a cry of anguish wrenched from his gut. He knew that Aaron too had died.

  The Archmage wept. The God-King… Aaron.

  His beloved.

  It was Aaron who had raised the lost city of Artalon from the depths of the sea, to be his Imperial seat of power, but it was Valkrage who made Aaron into a god. How? He couldn’t quite remember. Odd.

  The Gold Dragon’s avatar opposed Valkrage’s plan. Valkrage banished him so he could not interfere. Where? He couldn’t quite remember.

  But his plan had been successful. What plan?

  Why couldn’t he feel Graelyn? Why did the Green Dragon not come for him?

  There was something else. Something still undone. Something more he must do…

  He couldn’t remember.

  Aaron had become Karanos, the resurrected incarnation of a dead god.

  How?

  He shook his head. He couldn’t remember.

  Kairantheum.

  What did that mean? He should know. It was important.

  Kairantheum. Divine space-time. The place in which gods held their being.

  But what about it?

  He couldn’t remember.

  He clutched his temples. A throbbing pain grew behind his eyes.

  He shuddered in horror and realized why key memories eluded him. He was the avatar of Eldrikura, the Violet Dragon. Now that she was destroyed, the parts of him that were her started to dissolve. He could feel the slow deterioration begin in the draconic structures of his mind.

  He was going mad.

  PART 1: IMMACULATE CONCEPTION

  1 - The Frozen Girl

  Shards of faerie light scattered over Ahmbren’s nighttime skies. Some fell slowly, others quickly, and some drifted to lands across the farthest oceans. Those that did not fall dissolved into nothingness, dying lights forever forgotten.

  One light in particular fell swiftly through the icy air. It condensed, crystalizing into consciousness until it became aware of the suffering held within fragmented memories of a thousand Fae souls. Above and below all of it, the spirit of the Green Dragon dominated its mind. The Dragon gave it a spark of her own life force, making the faerie light whole and gathering its pieces into a new awareness, a new being. It felt… agony.

  Mother! It—she—cried out for help.

  But the Dragon who had given her life was no more. Sorrow overwhelmed the falling wisp.

  My children… The Green Dragon’s dying thoughts burned into the light’s soul. Live!

  A first and final commandment.

  The light touched the ground on snowy mountain slopes beneath a full moon shining softly through ice-laden pines. A radiant pool of water coalesced, capturing the moon’s rays. She struggled to stay as she was, a luminous wisp free from the bite of the cold, but as fast as she could think it, she thrashed with newfound limbs, splashing as she fell forward out of the pool onto unfamiliar hands and knees. She fell hard, bruising her kneecaps. She tried to cry out in pain, but instead spit water out of flesh and blood lungs. She sucked in her first breath with a loud gasp.

  Breath. She watched her frosty exhalations puff into the bed of snow. I’m… breathing?

  She stayed there for a moment on hands and knees, staring at her white fingers in the snow. Chaotic thoughts whirled through her head as momen
ts passed. Her palms and shins throbbed with pain, and the bitter cold of the snow seeped through her fingers to her bones. Surprise at her body’s physicality overshadowed the pain.

  The sense of loss filled her again as voices echoed through her mind: Where is the sea of light? Where is the land of song?

  She struggled and pushed herself to her feet. Her knees wobbled as she awkwardly found her balance. She held out her hands and studied the slender forms of her arms. Her skin was pale white, moonlight held together by flesh. She looked down at her naked body, seeing the curves of breasts, hips, and legs. A pattern of curved red crescents formed stripes over her skin. Silver hair fell straight over her shoulders. Her feet and toes hid buried under the blanket of snow.

  She turned and stared at the pool that had just delivered her into the world. Her reflection in the now calm, glowing water stared numbly back at her. Her irises were the deep brown of stained oak, ringed with luminescent striations of green. The strange red markings surrounded her eyelids and descended in three bold lines over her cheeks that connected to the pattern on her neck and back, in stark contrast to her silver skin. Long, narrow ears extended into points, sweeping back away from her hair.

  She shivered uncontrollably as the chill from the icy air stabbed through to her bones. Water that still clung to her skin froze. A wave of nausea and dizziness overcame her, and she fell to the ground unconscious.

  * * *

  Attaris stood five feet tall, and that was with the generosity of boots. A green leather coat with fur lining and matching green breeches kept the cold away, and two short steel hammers, adorned with golden rune-work, hung from his belt. Long, ginger hair and an equally long beard framed his round dwarven face and twinkling brown eyes.