Twilight of the Dragons (23 page)

Beetrax stared at Lillith, mouth flapping. He absolutely could
not
believe what he was hearing.

“Lillith,” he managed, finally, as Dake and Talon stood by, helpless, wondering what the hell they should do; does one intervene in a lovers' tiff? In their experience, only one person ended up in the shit, and that was the one sticking their bloody nose in in the first place! And so they watched, and listened, and readied themselves to jump in the middle if any problems occurred…

“Lillith. My life. My love. What in the name of the Seven Sisters are you doing?”

“I am following my destiny.”

“Which is what?”

Lillith stared long and hard at Beetrax. “Have you listened to nothing I've ever told you? Have you not realised my path? Yes, we have shared time together, Beetrax, and I have tried to instil in you my love, and faith, my belief in peace and calm… but here, and now, this is not a place for peace and calm. It is a time for action, for doing, because if we do not, then the world will be a very different place. Can you not comprehend the import of why we are here? Why destiny led us here? We have a mission to perform, Beetrax, and although I love you to the core, although I love you to the grave, you
will
get out of my way within three seconds or I'll hurt you so bad you won't walk for a fucking month.”

Sakora stepped between them. She'd been approaching, quiet, stealthy, as Lillith ranted. Now, she stood between them, her back to Beetrax, dwarfed by the huge axeman, her scarred and battered face focussed on Lillith.

“This is not you,” she said.

Lillith stared at her, dark eyes narrowed.

“Get out of the way, bitch.”

“Lillith would never speak like that.”

Lillith cackled, then, and tilted her head. “Of course I would. It only depends on a certain set of circumstances. It depends on one realising one's own potential, one's own reality, one's own purpose in life.”

“What is your purpose in life, Lillith?”

“We need to reach the dragon eggs.”

“Why?”

“To stop them hatching.”

“You are sure of this?”

“Yes.”

Sakora suddenly struck out, slapping a stinging blow that spun Lillith around, and dropped her to her knees.

“No!” choked Beetrax in anguish, but Sakora turned, and this time placed her own hand against Beetrax's chest. Then, still holding that position, she turned, and frowned, and watched as Lillith looked up.

The white witch seemed different, somehow. Her eyes were no longer as dark. No longer tainted with smoke flecks. She reached up, and touched her own stinging cheek, feeling the handprint there, for Sakora did not pull her punches.

“How you feeling, Lil?”

Lillith tilted her head. She coughed, and climbed to her feet. Then, as Sakora stepped out of the way, she ran to Beetrax and threw herself into his arms. He stood there, like a useless bear, and Lillith's tears stained his shirt and he looked over her shoulder at Sakora.

What
? he mouthed.

What the fuck is going on
?

Then Lillith looked up. And Beetrax looked down. And Lillith smiled. And Beetrax smiled. And he knew everything was going to be good with the world. Again.

“Forgive me?” she said.

“What happened?” he said.

“It's this… place. It gets into your blood. It oozes… magick. White magick, but also… the dark arts. Equiem magick. The spells are here, in the air, in the gold, flowing with the platinum river. This place is old, Beetrax. Older than anything I've ever experienced. Forget the Harborym Dwarves; forget the Church of Hate and the Scriptures of Hate. Those things are parasites riding on the flesh of a million-year-old empire.”

Everybody present was chilled by her words. For she spoke the truth; the truth, which bled from rock and gold and bones and dust.

“The Blood Dragon Empire,” she said, and pushed her head into Beetrax's chest.

“But it's gone,” he whispered. “All gone.”

“Not all gone,” said Lillith, looking up at him, then looking round at the others. “The dragons ruled, for a million years. They were unconquerable. And we, men, dwarves, elves, we were their slaves. We were the slave races. They bred us, to build, to grow crops, to farm meat. They were kings and queens, and we their playthings. But they went to war against one another…” She paused, and her eyes drifted distant, and she reached out as if to touch something that floated in the air… “Three clans, three terrible, violent clans, and the world was bathed in fire for a thousand days as dragon fought dragon, clan fought clan, and a war raged like nothing which had gone before it.”

Lillith paused, sagging a little, and Beetrax held her, as he always would.

“They destroyed themselves,” said Lillith, softly. “Killed one another mercilessly, with hate, and spite, and violence. Impervious to fire, they tore one another apart, snapping wings, ripping off legs and tails and heads. It was a war of sickeningly violent bloodshed… and below it all cowered the remnants of their slaves. And then it was done. Then it was over. Only a few remained. And a group of slaves, made up of the hardiest men, dwarves and elves, they banded together and slaughtered the few remaining dragons. They built machines, using ancient Blood Dragon technology, and with these great machines they captured some of the old clans, and they destroyed the rest. From this came the birth of the Harborym Dwarves. From this came the Great Dwarf Lords. From this came the cessation of the Blood Dragon Empire!”

Lillith slumped, and Beetrax bore her to the ground, where she suddenly slept.

He looked up at Sakora, eyes searching for answers.

Sakora gave a little shrug, and smiled. “This place,” she said. “We do not belong here. This is a place of evil. A place of evil for us, anyway. And… it
knows
it. It knows we are intruders. It's like a virus invading the human body; the body then creates antibodies to fight the infection. That's what we are, here; an infection. Anathema to a million years of dragon rule.”

“And this place seeks to… destroy us?”

“I think so. I think it… kind of took over Lillith, for a little while there.”

“So I just slap her to get her out of it?”

“Do you remember being thrown thirty feet across the cobbles?”

Beetrax nodded. “Aye. That hurt, that did.”

“You just focus on killing… dwarves. And dragons. I'll look after Lillith.”

Beetrax nodded, with a sad grin, and knelt beside his love waiting for her to waken.

I
t was hours later
, although there seemed to be no time in this place. The same warm glow infused the world of Wyrmblood, and never seemed to change. Lillith had emerged from her short sleep of exhaustion, of horror, of possession, and apologised to Beetrax profusely. But her fixation was the same – to find the dragon eggs she had seen so many times across the tapestry of so many visions.

And so they followed her, more sedately this time, with Jael looking back sheepishly at Beetrax. The axeman studiously avoided Jael's stare, in fear of taking his axe and planting it between the little bastard's eyes.

The city of Wyrmblood seemed to go on
forever
.
Endless roads, endless highways, some cobbled, some smooth silver or paved with a million jewels. Their boots trod the roads, their heads turning, surveying the endless, endless empty buildings.

“Millions must have lived here,” said Dake, at one point.

Lillith, more herself now, nodded. “Yes, somewhere near that. But not humans. Or elves. Or dwarves. They were down in the slave quarters.”

“Slave quarters?”

“Caves. A vast tunnel system, far below the mines of the Harborym Dwarves. It is a miracle the dwarves never discovered them before. The
slaves
would have no luxury from Wyrmblood.”

“There's a lot of mountain,” observed Dake.

“A lot of mountain to fill with slaves,” agreed Lillith, with a narrow smile.

Beetrax strode at the back, now, his faith subtly shaken. His woman, his true love – this place had changed her. And he could not help but blame himself for bringing her here; yes, he'd dressed it up, eventually, as a rescue mission for Jonti Tal, but the truth of the matter had been twofold: greed, and adventure. So much for the adventure! The notion and glamour of adventure soon fades after one is tortured by barbarous dwarves for weeks on end with the aim of breaking a man's will. Driven to the limits of sanity by sheer physical pain, by suffering, by the evil machinations of evil scumbags, living offal. He thought back, to better times, living, laughing, loving, drinking Vagandrak Red, eating smoked sausage and bread and cheese in meadows filled with buttercups. He smiled to himself, and before he realised what had happened, Jael was there, walking alongside him.

Beetrax strode on, eyes fixed ahead, his temper slowly rising.

“I wanted to apologise,” said Jael, his voice small.

“No apology needed,” rumbled Beetrax, still not looking at the youth.

“No. I
need
to apologise. What I did was wrong.”

“It's all right, lad. Now I knows you're a coward, I won't be turning my back on you in a hurry.” He gave a tight-lipped smile.

“There is no excuse for what I did, but I want you to know, I will prove myself to you in the future. I will make this right again. I
will
show you I am worth something to you, that I do have courage when it counts.”

Beetrax halted, and Jael stumbled to a stop. “Well. Only time will tell. No go on, go walk with Lillith. I'm sure she's missing her little, shitty-arsed pet puppy.”

With red cheeks, Jael accelerated ahead, leaving Beetrax alone with his thoughts once more. Dake dropped back to him.

“A little harsh?”

“It's what he deserved.”

“Really?”

“Don't you fucking start. Because of him, we could all be dead!
And
I broke a finger.”

“Ah. The finger.” Dake smiled. “Some things will never cease to amuse me.”

T
he roadway had been heading imperceptibly
down, until they passed through a collection of huge buildings, golden cubes, each one as tall as the tallest church in Vagan; and yet these were simply cubic structures fashioned from gold bricks, walls perfectly symmetrical, but with no windows or doors. Their purpose was not clear, but they spread out now, and the overlanders walked between these seemingly pointless monoliths, eyes looking up, necks craning.

Conversation had ceased now, and they travelled in two discrete groups: Lillith and Jael up ahead, leading the way, and a subdued Beetrax, Talon, Dake and Sakora bringing up the rear. Lillith led them on a zigzagging path through what turned into a maze of these huge golden buildings, and soon everybody felt lost; yet still Lillith led them onwards, without faltering, without halting to check her way.

And then, they turned a corner, and it was there.

A mammoth, golden dragon, seemingly carved from one solid block and towering above them. Its wings were slightly outstretched, almost triangular head pointing forward, stretching out as if to attack. Lips curled back over fangs, eyes narrowed, threatening, glinting gold.

“That, my friends, is fucking awesome,” said Beetrax, stopping in his tracks. They all stopped. And looked up. And stared in wonder. Never had they seen a statue so big, or so impressive. It could have swallowed ten Vagan churches.

“What is it?” whispered Dake.

Lillith turned, staring back at the group. “It is the embodiment of the Dragon Queen, a merging of every Queen Wyrm that has ever existed down here in Wyrmblood. Every time another Queen dies, so her image is absorbed into the whole, and becomes part of a hive mind, a kind of ruling conscience which offers advice to the rulers of Wyrmblood. Every time another Dragon Queen is absorbed, the exterior alters a little to accommodate her physical form.”

They stared at her.

“How could you possibly know that?” whispered Sakora.

Lillith frowned. “I don't know,” she said, finally. “I just
know.
”

They stared for a little while longer, and then without a sound, Lillith padded forward towards the statue's massive front legs, claws splayed, each claw bigger than a serrated longsword. The others followed, staring up once more as the golden dragon reared above them, silent and glowing under the strange, ethereal light of this underworld.

Reaching a point beneath the front legs, so Lillith paused, and closed her eyes, and there came a grinding of ancient gears, a spinning of cogs, and the floor opened in a circle, a spiral staircase dropping silently, smoothly, deep down in a wide shaft that, once again, told the overlanders that this was not their city, not their world; it was a strange, alien place, and the staircase was big enough to allow several dragons side by side.

Struggling, they dropped down from step to step, down into more warm light. Beetrax counted softly to himself, but gave up when he hit three hundred. They were deep.
Deep
er than deep.

Finally, they emerged into a massive chamber with an intricately carved ceiling; it seemed to be some kind of language. The walls and ceiling were perfectly smooth, and plain, and a soft cream in colour. The chamber stretched off further than the eye could see, and the heroes dropped from the final step, crunching something underfoot, as they moved away from the great dragon stairwell and peered about.

They moved, and each footfall crunched, a seemingly deafening sound because the vast long low chamber was so quiet.

Beetrax stopped, boots crackling, and he knelt, rubbing his hand through the tiny white particles.

“Shells,” he said, finally. “Like seashells on a beach.”

“Not seashells,” said Lillith, and they all looked at her.

She closed her eyes, and lifted her hand. Her lips started to writhe, and the centre of her outstretched palm glowed red. The others looked about, then to Beetrax, who shrugged, face open with his own curiosity.