The Last Slayer Read online

  Maybe it was the result of the shared Sex. Some engage in selfish Sex, where one partner takes everything and gives nothing to the other. Creatures of nightmare are a prime example. What Ramiel and I had done wasn’t like that. Mutual pleasure, but unequal sharing in my favor.

  I couldn’t decide what to make of that.

  “Where are we going?” I said, when he didn’t make any attempt to land the dragon somewhere secluded for our talk.

  “To Besade.”

  “To what?”

  “Besade. My dragonhold.”

  “I know what Besade is. Why are we going there?”

  He glanced at me over a shoulder and gave a small frown. “You can’t think to return to your home.”

  “Funnily enough, I can.”

  “It isn’t necessary.” He pulled something out of a fold of his cloak. It was the old and worn book of spells that contained draco perditio. “I believe you were intending to retrieve this?”

  “How did you know it was that book? And how did you get it?”

  “It has the forbidden spell. And I possess the ability to read.” He gave me a faint smile. “You should guard your dwelling more carefully.”

  “You broke the wardings. Again.”

  “Ah, yes. Useless distractions. What did you think you could do with such things? They wouldn’t even stop an infant wyrm.” He turned slightly, so that we were no longer quite front-to-back. “Your home is marked now, and not just by Madainsair. Wyrms will be waiting for you there.”

  There was that “marked” again. “What does it mean to be marked?”

  “To be marked is to become a beacon. Whoever marked you or your dwelling can track you. Possibly spy upon you.”

  So…a magical GPS bug. Wasn’t I lucky?

  “I removed it for you the first time.”

  The burning sensation in my dream. “That Selena thing was working for Madainsair?”

  “No.”

  “Well, who then?”

  “I am not yet sure. Someone with an interest in seeing the status quo remain, obviously.”

  “But why me?”

  “You still live,” he said dispassionately.

  I opened my mouth to say something sharp, but the amphitere’s cry caught my attention. A large island with lush greenery and dark rocks floated in the air before us.

  I let my mouth stay open.

  I’d read about floating islands and seen a few antique artists’ sketches. None of them captured the magic of the real thing. And magic as old and powerful as this was simply beautiful. At that moment, hypocritical or not, I wished I had a camera.

  Hundreds of buttresses rose from the foothills in the center of the island to support an enormous castle with sharp turrets. As we drew closer, I could see life-sized bas-reliefs of dragons, dragonlords and slayers moving over the stone surface. Protruding slightly from the wall, the sculptures displayed the meticulous detail that only comes from the finest workmanship. They seemed to be in battle, smashing one another. I’d never seen anything like it, and I’d had plenty of opportunities to see some amazing things—the Johnsons owned a lot of magical artifacts. A mortal would have to perform a series of death rites to harness enough power to run something this enormous. I wouldn’t have believed Ramiel could afford to spend this much magic on just his walls if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. And the longer I looked at the bas-reliefs the more nervous I became. What could any dragonlord possibly want from me?

  With each blow, chunks of stone fell to the ground. “Why do you let them mutilate each other? I would be pissed if my decorations refused to get along.”

  Ramiel gave a cursory glance at the battles royal flowing along his castle’s brickwork. “They’re to educate young dragons who haven’t learned our history yet.” He pointed at a tangled mass of dragons and slayers. The latter were doing a fine job of hacking away at the former. “That’s a campaign from the Fall of the Dragons.”

  It was sort of a weird choice. Why remind himself of an ancient war in which his kind had lost? It would’ve been more fun to select something from the Twilight of Slayers.

  He looked at me over a shoulder. “In addition to educating our young, it gets my dragons’ blood running hot. Fervor to destroy our enemies.”

  “Enemies? But the slayers are dead.”

  “True. Still, there are other conflicts. We must be ready.”

  The implacability in his voice made me shiver. Who were these enemies? Was there a war to come? Who could possibly challenge the dragonlords now that the slayers were gone? The amphitere flew over the outer castle wall, and I suddenly realized what he meant by “ready.” Below us, masses of wyrms, drakes and wyverns were in the middle of military drill. Their claws dugs into the rocks and their cries shook the castle. Such sweat and dedication—but for what?

  I couldn’t imagine who could possibly threaten Ramiel. Sure, he had enemies. All supernaturals do. But he was considered one of the dragonlords’ deadliest warriors, a swordsman of such renown that few would face him in single combat. Whoever he planned to fight had to be incredibly powerful, and that made me nervous. Anytime there’s large-scale turmoil in the supernatural realm, mortals are usually forced to pick a side.

  Ramiel’s amphitere landed on a circular platform made of white marble in the very center of the dragonhold. The second we stepped onto the ground, something the size of my palm zoomed over. I swatted at it. I hate bugs, especially the big flying kind.

  “Ack! How rude!” It took in my appearance—all tattered clothes and wyrm saliva—and sniffed. “And your hands are filthy.”

  I stared at it. “My god. What are you?”

  It had the body of a small reptile, but not a long snakelike one similar to wyrms or drakes. The closest thing in the mortal world that could compare to the indignant creature before me was a Tyrannosaurus rex. But this thing was all of four inches from teeth to tail. Its narrowed black eyes on me, the dragon—or was it?—shook its iridescent-scaled body and fluttered its butterfly wings.

  Hmm…maybe I should call it Tinker-Wyrm.

  “I am Toshi, Castellan of Besade and First Retainer to milord Ramiel.” Haughtiness that would make any European royal proud emanated from the tiny beast. Unfortunately, its high-pitched voice ruined the effect. “And who are you?”

  “I am Ashera del Cid.” I was slightly annoyed that I didn’t have a blah blah blah of blah blah blah title that sounded impressive.

  “Oh no!” Toshi squeaked. He immediately dropped to the ground, his snout touching the stone. “I have sinned, exalted one. Punish me!” he cried, his entire body trembling. Even his scales were shaking.

  Damn. If this was the effect my name had on Ramiel’s staff, it was pretty awesome.

  “Well…you didn’t know.” Magnanimity is everything.

  “No no, I’ve been impertinent. Please punish me.”

  It’s not a problem that comes up a lot, but the fact is it’s difficult to punish someone the size of your palm. What was I supposed to do? Spank him?

  “Arise!” Despite his stern tone, Ramiel’s emerald eyes were glinting. “Lady Ashera wishes to forgive you.”

  Toshi raised his head and looked at me with pitiful eyes. “Truly?”

  “Yes, ah, truly.” Never let it be said that I abuse the staff—even if they’re dragons.

  “Oh thank you, milady.” Toshi rose into the air until he was at my shoulder level, his foreclaws laced in front of him ingratiatingly. “I will do my best to ensure your utmost comfort. Welcome to Besade, Oh Great Dragonlady of Eastvale.”

  Six

  Oh Great Dragonlady of Eastvale?

  Was he demented? I was not a dragonlady. And I certainly wasn’t of Eastvale. That hold belonged to… Well, come to think of it, I actually had no idea. The last dragonlord of Eastvale that I knew about had died during the Twilight of Slayers four hundred years ago. There must have been a replacement since then, but it certainly wasn’t me.

  “Is something wrong?” Anxiety c
rept into Toshi’s small voice.

  “No.”

  He stared up at me, then blinked. “You don’t seem like a dragonlady.”

  Instead of saying, “And you don’t seem like a dragon,” I gave Toshi a reassuring smile and shot Ramiel a we-need-to-talk look. He avoided my gaze, suddenly having developed a surpassing interest in a platoon of drakes marching in the distance. Maybe Toshi had made a mistake, although it seemed highly unlikely. He didn’t come across as the type to toss a title like that around for no reason.

  “Toshi,” Ramiel said, still not looking at me. “We are weary from our trip.”

  The tiny dragon zipped over to him. “Of course, my lord. How unforgivably rude I am!”

  Uh-oh. Was he going to beg for punishment again?

  Thankfully, Toshi skipped the theatrics and led us to the great hall. The inside of Besade was as medieval as the outside, although comfort took priority over fidelity to tradition. I couldn’t blame anyone for that. Old castles didn’t even have decent plumbing. Orb lights floated around and illuminated wide corridors. They looked like giant fireflies, although they’re not really bugs, just low-grade magic. Heavy tapestries depicting dragons cascaded from the ceilings. Red, gold and yellow, the hangings had to be at least several centuries old.

  “Unlike Eastvale, Besade is built along the lines of old-style mortal architecture. European, if I may be so bold,” Toshi said, pointing at some of the columns and winding staircases. “Lord Ramiel is quite fond of their old buildings. They remind him of his childhood years.”

  Role-player geeks would have given their eyeteeth to be there with me. Dragons, a huge and ancient magical structure with a complex layout…and there was probably some silly bimbo who looked like Valerie lying around somewhere at the center of the castle, waiting to be rescued.

  “Much of the style had to be modified for our use, of course,” Toshi continued, circling around me. “If you’d like, I would be honored to give you a tour of the entire dragonhold and tell you about its history and mythos.”

  I wasn’t really in the mood for a leisurely stroll around the castle. I wanted to talk to Ramiel and find out why the Triumvirate of Madainsair wanted me dead and why Toshi had called me the Dragonlady of Eastvale. At the same time I didn’t know how to decline in the face of such hopeful anticipation.

  The appearance of two ruby drakes on patrol saved me from having to answer. They bowed to Ramiel. “Welcome home, my lord,” they said in a dialect close enough to Standard that I could make out the meaning.

  Ramiel nodded at them. Their long bodies, larger than wyrms’, had thick scales. Drakes have four legs and can breathe out a poisonous fire akin to napalm. They use their forelegs as arms sometimes, although they lack opposable thumbs. They bowed again, this time to me, their massive heads traveling up and down on long necks like brontosaurs. “Welcome, Lady Ashera.”

  News sure traveled fast, and it was all a bit overwhelming. How should I respond to their greeting? My only interactions with dragons up to that point had been decidedly hostile, and my hand itched to grab a sword. But I was a guest here and it wouldn’t do to be rude. “Thank you for your kind welcome.”

  Puffs of hot air escaped nostrils large enough to serve as basketball hoops. They resumed their patrol.

  “Toshi, prepare spiced melon wine and snacks. We’ll be in my antechamber,” Ramiel said.

  “Yes, milord.” The little dragon darted off, quick as a hummingbird.

  Ramiel led me down a long corridor with a high cathedral ceiling. Glass and crystal embedded in the ceiling broke the light into intricate multicolored patterns. The scale of everything was enormous. With all the dragons inside, the place had to be as large as Mount Everest. But despite its size I found myself fighting against claustrophobia. The dark stone walls seemed to press down, and it seemed difficult to breathe. Maybe it was the altitude.

  “How do you manage to hide something this large all the time?”

  “‘Hide’?” Ramiel seemed amused by the notion.

  “We have air traffic, satellites. Someone must’ve noticed Besade, but I’ve never heard anything about it.”

  “Ah.” He smiled. “Our dragonholds aren’t in precisely the same dimension as yours. Without an affinity for magic and the right spell, mortals can neither see nor feel them.”

  That explained a lot. Several well-heeled groups, not to mention the Pentagon, had spent billions of dollars trying to find the dragonholds and failed completely. “Look, can we talk? I need to go back to work.”

  “I advise against it. You don’t believe the second wyrm was an accident, do you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nathanael never lets one loose without a purpose.”

  I recalled the black-clad dragonlord who had been so utterly still. He had almost executed me at TriMedica.

  “But why would they try to kill me?”

  All expression disappeared from Ramiel’s face. “Very well. Let us talk.”

  A pair of thick wooden doors to the right opened, and we stepped inside a room four times the size of my condo. Two large desks carved out of blocks of dark stone stood near a wall of stained glass windows. Their presence might have evoked a medieval church if it hadn’t been for the images that had been etched into them—wyverns soaring into the sky over the ruins of the slayers’ Lair. The dragonhold made me feel twitchy and nervous. I was out of my element in a place with enough magic to pulverize me. It was like being used to lifting stones overhead and suddenly finding a mountain suspended above you.

  Two silver goblets of light green liquid sat on a rectangular silver serving tray on one of the desks. Next to them was an assortment of fruits, biscuits, and bread with honey. I noticed a bas-relief wyrm cowering in the corner behind the desk, its stone skin out of place in the tastefully appointed room. It was missing a big chunk of its tail.

  Ramiel pointed at the door. “Out.”

  The wyrm dropped its head and slithered away, its body clattering along the inlaid-tile floor.

  “Okay, what was that?”

  “He just lost a battle outside and was attempting to hide in here.” Ramiel tightened his lips. “Besade has no room for cowards.”

  So decorations up here not only had to look good, but also demonstrate valor? Jeez.

  Ramiel gestured at a large chair facing one of the desks. “Please have a seat.”

  I looked at the pristine leather and then my saliva-covered self.

  “Toshi will consider it an honor to clean it.”

  Well, if he put it that way… I plopped down and crossed my legs. “Talk.”

  He sat behind his desk and leaned back. “So diplomatic.” He didn’t smile, but his tone hinted at amusement.

  “I’m not feeling diplomatic right now. I had to deal with two wyrms, my assignment is still waiting for me in Arlington, and basically, it’s just been a cranky day all around.”

  “Help yourself to refreshments.” He gestured at the tray between us. “I know you’re hungry.”

  A tempting offer. I hadn’t had anything to eat except the donut that morning. But what if they were poisoned?

  “They’re neither drugged nor poisoned nor enchanted,” he said, reading my mind.

  “Do you swear?”

  “I vow to not drug, poison or enchant anything you eat or drink. Nor shall I allow my staff to do so.”

  Phrased that way, it was a blanket promise, good forever. I relaxed slightly and took a small bite of the honeyed bread, which was excellent. Then I sipped the wine, which was nothing like what we have in the mortal world. It tasted sweet with a hint of mint, probably the best thing I’d ever had.

  Ramiel steepled his fingers. “The Triumvirate of Madainsair wishes to destroy the one foretold by the Advisors.”

  “Okay.” The bread was really good. “Why?”

  “This person will alter the world order of supernaturals.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding.” Who could possibly have enough power to take
on all this magic?

  “I assure you I am not.”

  “So it’s true. The Advisors really exist.”

  Ramiel gave me a peculiar look. “Did you suppose they were figments of our imagination?”

  “Well, I kind of assumed they were made up to explain the unexplainable about supernaturals. Isn’t it just really convenient to say, ‘They did it because the Advisors said so’?”

  “I…suppose.”

  “Besides, none of the texts discuss them in detail, only that they were some women of unusually high-level divination, running around in a big group, ordering people—”

  “Three.”

  “Huh?”

  “There are three Advisors. Never more than that at once.”

  Okay. So I learned something new today. Still, Ramiel hadn’t told me why the Triumvirate wanted to kill me.

  Unless…

  Oh, no way.

  Ramiel’s eyes sharpened. “I see that you understand. The triumvirs feel they must destroy you at all costs, even if it necessitates mingling with mortals.”

  “Ridiculous.” I was a damn good hunter, but no mortal was good enough to change the mystical world order. He was talking about me like I was Julius Caesar or something.

  “Is it?” Ramiel rested his chin on his fingers. “Do you believe they unleashed their wyrms for no reason? Your use of draco perditio merely confirmed their suspicion that the one they were looking for was in America’s capital.”

  “So the book was a trap?” No wonder I hadn’t seen it before.

  “I prefer to call it an aid. To keep you alive.”

  My hand tightened around the wine goblet. “You revealed me to them.”

  “They would have found you in time. And may I point out again that you are alive.”

  My head began to throb. I needed aspirin. A truckload of it.

  Then I realized something else. “Nathanael’s seekers. They were for me?”

  Ramiel nodded.

  “He used…blood.” The implication was horrifying.

  “Don’t fret.” A corner of Ramiel’s mouth tilted upward slightly. “None of the triumvirs are holding your parents hostage for body parts.”