The History of Krynn: Vol V

by Dragon Lance

“This proves it!” Orin repeated, his eyes shining bright as the gold. “This is the beast’s hole. We’ve got him! Got him now!”

  Eric of the Rose, a grim look on his face, drew his sword and started for a huge tunnel leading off the cavern’s entrance. Shocked, Orin caught hold of the knight, pulled him back.

  “Are you daft, man?” the dwarf demanded. “Will you go walking in the dragon’s front door? Why don’t you just ring the bell, let him know we’re here?”

  “What other way is there?” Eric asked, nettled at Orin’s superior tone.

  “The back way,” said the dwarf cunningly. “The secret way. All dragons keep a back exit, just in case. We’ll use that.”

  “You’re saying we have to climb round to the other side of this bloody mountain?” Reynard protested. “After all the work it took to get here?”

  “Naw, Light-finger!” Orin scoffed. “We’ll go through the mountain. Safer, easier. Follow me.”

  He headed for what looked to me like nothing more than a crack in the wall. But, once we had all squeezed inside, we discovered a tunnel that led even deeper into the mountain.

  “This place is blacker than the Dark Queen’s heart,” muttered Eric, as we took our first few tentative steps inside. Although he had spoken in a low voice, his words echoed alarmingly.

  “Hush!” the dwarf growled. “What do you mean dark? I can see perfectly.”

  “But we humans can’t! Do we dare risk a light?” I whispered.

  “We won’t get far without one,” Eric grumbled. He’d already nearly brained himself on a low-hanging rock. “What about a torch?”

  “Torches smoke. And it’s rumored there’re other things living in this mountain besides the dragon!” Reynard said ominously.

  “Will this do?” asked Ulanda.

  Removing a jeweled wand from her belt, she held it up. She spoke no word, but – as if offended by the darkness – the wand began to shine with a soft white light.

  Orin shook his head over the frailty of humans and stumped off down the tunnel. We followed after.

  The path led down and around and over and under and into and out of and up and sideways and across... a veritable maze. How Orin kept from getting lost or mixed up was beyond me. All of us had doubts (Reynard expressed his loudly), but Orin never wavered.

  We soon lost track of time, wandering in the darkness beneath the mountain, but I would guess that we ended up walking most of the night. If we had not found the coin, we still would have guessed the dragon’s presence, just by the smell. It wasn’t heavy or rank, didn’t set us gagging or choking. It was a scent, a breath, a hint of blood and sulphur, gold and iron. It wasn’t pervasive, but drifted through the narrow corridors like the dust, teasing, taunting.

  Ulanda wrinkled her nose in disgust. She’d just complained breathlessly that she couldn’t stand another moment in this “stuffy hole” when Orin brought us to a halt. Grinning slyly, he looked round at us.

  “This is it,” he said.

  “This is what?” Eric asked dubiously, staring at yet another crack in the wall. (We’d seen a lot of cracks!)

  “It leads to the dragon’s other entrance,” said the dwarf.

  Squeezing through the crack, we found ourselves in another tunnel, this one far larger than any we’d found yet. We couldn’t see daylight, but we could smell fresh air, so we knew the tunnel connected with the outside. Ulanda held her wand up to the wall, and there again were the marks made by the dragon’s body. To clinch the matter, a few red scales glittered on the ground.

  Orin Dark-seer had done the impossible. He’d taken us clean through the mountain. The dwarf was pretty pleased with himself, but his pleasure was short-lived.

  We stopped for a rest, to drink some water and eat a bite of food to keep up our energy. Ulanda was sitting beside me, telling me in a low voice of the wonders of her castle, when suddenly Orin sprang to his feet.

  “Thief!” The dwarf howled. He leapt at Reynard. “Give it back!”

  I was standing; so was Reynard, who managed to put me in between himself and the enraged dwarf.

  “My gold nugget!” Orin shrieked.

  “Share and share alike,” Reynard said, bobbing this way and that to avoid the dwarf. “Finders keepers.”

  Orin began swinging that damn axe of his a bit too near my knees for comfort.

  “Shut them up, Seneschal!” Eric ordered me, as if I were one of his foot soldiers. “They’ll bring the dragon down on us!”

  “Fools! I’ll put an end to this!” Ulanda reached her hand into a silken pouch she wore on her belt.

  I think we may well have lost both thief and guide at that moment, but we suddenly had far greater problems.

  “Orin! Behind you!” I shouted.

  Seeing by the expression of sheer terror on my face that this was no trick, Orin whirled around.

  A knight – or what had once been a knight – was walking toward us. His armor covered bone, not flesh. His helm rattled on a bare and bloodstained skull. He held a sword in his skeletal hand. Behind him, I saw what seemed an army of these horrors, though there were – in reality – only six or seven.

  “I’ve heard tell of this!” Eric said, awed. “These were once living men, who dared attack this dragon. The wyrm killed them and now forces their rotting corpses to serve him!”

  “I’ll put it out of its misery,” Orin cried. Bounding forward, the dwarf struck at the undead warrior with his axe. The blade severed the knight’s knees at the joint. The skeleton toppled. The dwarf laughed.

  “No need to trouble yourselves over this lot,” he told us. “Stand back.”

  The dwarf went after the second. But at that moment, the first skeleton picked up its bones, began putting itself back together! Within moments, it was whole again. The skeleton brought its sword down on the dwarf’s head. Fortunately for Orin, he was wearing a heavy steel helm. The sword did no damage, but the blow sent the dwarf reeling.

  Ulanda already had her hand in her pouch. She drew out a noxious powder, tossed it onto the undead warrior nearest her. The skeleton went up in a whoosh of flame that nearly incinerated the thief, who had been attempting to lift a jeweled dagger from the undead warrior’s belt. After that, Reynard very wisely took himself out of the way, watched the fight from a corner.

  Eric of the Rose drew his sword, but he did not attack. Holding his blade by the hilt, he raised it in front of one of the walking skeletons. “I call on Paladine to free these noble knights of the curse that binds them to this wretched life.”

  The undead warrior kept coming, its bony hand clutching a rusting sword. Eric held his ground, stood fast, repeating his prayer in sonorous Solamnic. The skeletal warrior raised its sword for the deathblow. Eric gazed at it steadfastly, never wavering in his faith.

  I watched with that terrible fascination that freezes a man in his tracks until the end.

  “Paladine!” Eric gave a great shout, raised his sword to the heavens.

  The skeletal knight dropped down in a pile of dust at the knight’s feet.

  Orin, who had been exchanging blows with two corpses for some time and was now getting the worst of the battle, beat a strategic retreat. Ulanda with her magic and Eric with his faith took care of the remainder of the skeletal warriors.

  I had drawn my sword, but, seeing that my help wasn’t needed, I watched in admiration. When the warriors were either reduced to dust or smoldering ash, the two returned. Ulanda’s hair wasn’t even mussed. Eric hadn’t broken into a sweat.

  “There are not two in this land who could have done what you did,” I said to them, and I meant it.

  “I am good at anything I undertake,” Ulanda said. She wiped dust from her hands. “Very good,” she added with a charming smile and a glance at me from beneath her long eyelashes.

  “My god Paladine was with me,” Eric said humbly.

  The battered dwarf glowered. “Meaning to say my god Reorx wasn’t?”

  “The good knight means nothing of the so
rt.” I was quick to end the argument. “Without you, Orin Dark-seer, we would be food for the dragon right now. Why do you think the skeleton men attacked us? Because we are drawing too near the dragon’s lair, and that is due entirely to your expertise. No one else in this land could have brought us this far safely, and we all know it.”

  At this, I glanced pointedly at Eric, who took the hint and bowed courteously, if a bit stiffly, to the dwarf. Ulanda rolled her lovely eyes, but muttered something gracious.

  I gave Reynard a swift kick in the pants, and the thief reluctantly handed over the golden nugget, which seemed to mean more to the dwarf than our words of praise. Orin thanked us all, of course, but his attention was on the gold. He examined it suspiciously, as if worried that Reynard might have tried to switch the real nugget with a fake. The dwarf bit down it, polished it on his doublet. Finally certain the gold was real, Orin thrust it beneath his leather armor for safekeeping.

  So absorbed was the dwarf in his gold that he didn’t notice Reynard lifting his purse from behind. I did, but I took care not to mention it.

  As I said, we were close to the dragon’s lair.

  We moved ahead, doubly cautious, keeping sharp watch for any foe. We were deep, deep inside the mountain now. It was silent. Too silent.

  “You’d think we’d hear something,” Eric whispered to me. “The dragon breathing, if nothing else. A beast that large would sound like a bellows down here.”

  “Perhaps this means he’s not home,” Reynard said.

  “Or perhaps it means we’ve come to a dead end,” said Ulanda idly.

  Rounding a corner of the tunnel, we all stopped and stared. The sorceress was right. Ahead of us, blocking our path, was a solid rock wall.

  The darkness grew darker at that moment. All hint of outside air had long since been left behind. The scent of blood and sulphur, now enhanced by a dank, chill, musty smell, was strong. And so was the scent of gold. I could smell it and so, I knew, could my companions. Our imaginations, I suppose, or perhaps wishful thinking. But maybe not. Gold has a smell – its own metal smell and, added to that, the stink of the sweat from all the hands that have touched it and coveted it and grasped it and lost it. That was the smell, and it was sweet perfume to everyone in that cave. Sweet and frustrating, for – seemingly – we had no way to reach it.

  Orin’s cheeks flushed. He tugged on his beard, cast us all a sidelong glance. “This must be the way,” he muttered, kicking disconsolately at the rock.

  “We’ll have to go back,” Eric said grimly. “Paladine is teaching me a lesson. I should have faced the wyrm in honorable battle. None of this skulking about like a —”

  “Thief?” Reynard said brightly. “Very well, Sir Knight, you can go back to the front door, if you want. I will sneak in by the window.”

  With this, Reynard closed his eyes and, flattening himself against the rock wall, he seemed – to all appearances – to be making love to it. His hands crawled over it, his fingers poking and prodding. He even whispered what sounded like cooing and coaxing words. Suddenly, with a triumphant grin, he placed his feet in two indentations in the bottom of the wall, put his hands in two cracks at the top, and pressed.

  The rock wall shivered, then it began to slide to one side! A shaft of reddish light beamed out. The thief jumped off the wall, waved his hand at the opening he’d created.

  “A secret door,” Orin said. “I knew it all along.”

  “You want to go around to the front now?” Reynard asked the knight slyly.

  Eric glared at the thief, but he appeared to be having second thoughts about meeting the dragon face-to-face in an honorable fight. He drew his sword, waited for the wall to open completely so that we could see inside.

  The light pouring out from the doorway was extremely bright. All of us blinked and rubbed our eyes, trying to adjust them to the sudden brilliance after the darkness of the tunnels. We waited, listening for the dragon. None of us had a doubt but that we had discovered the beast’s dwelling place.

  We heard nothing. All was deathly quiet.

  “The dragon’s not home!” Reynard rubbed his hands. “Hiddukel the Trickster is with me today!” He made a dash for the entrance, but Sir Eric’s hand fell, like doom, on his shoulder.

  “I will lead,” he said. “It is my right.”

  Sword in hand, a prayer on his lips, the holy paladin walked into the dragon’s lair.

  Reynard crept right behind him. Orin, moving more cautiously, followed the thief. Ulanda had taken a curious-looking scroll from her belt. Holding it fast, she entered the lair after the dwarf. I drew my dagger. Keeping watch behind me, I entered last.

  The door began to rumble shut.

  I halted. “We’re going to be trapped in here!” I called out as loudly as I dared.

  The others paid no attention to me. They had discovered the dragon’s treasure room.

  The bright light’s source was a pit of molten rock bubbling in a corner of the gigantic underground chamber. The floor of the cavern had been worn smooth, probably by the rubbing of the dragon’s enormous body. A great, glittering heap, tall as His Majesty’s castle, was piled together on the cavern floor.

  Gathered here was every beautiful, valuable, and precious object in the kingdom. Gold shone red in the fire-light, jewels of every color of the rainbow winked and sparkled. The silver reflected the smiles of the dragon-hunters. And, best of all, the cavern was uninhabited.

  Sir Eric fell on his knees and began to pray.

  Ulanda stared, openmouthed.

  Orin was weeping into his beard with joy. But by now, the secret door had slammed shut.

  Not one of them noticed.

  “The dragon’s not home!” Reynard shrieked, and he made a dive for the treasure pile.

  My treasure pile.

  The thief began pawing through the gold.

  My gold.

  I walked up behind him.

  “Never jump to conclusions,” I said.

  With my dagger, I gave him the death a thief deserves.

  I stabbed him in the back.

  “I thought you should at least have a look,” I said to him kindly, gesturing to my hoard. “Since you’re the best.”

  Reynard died then – the most astonished looking corpse I’d ever seen. I still don’t think he’d quite figured things out.

  But Ulanda had. She was smart, that sorceress. She guessed the truth immediately, if a bit late – even before I took off my ring of shapechanging.

  Now, at last, after weeks of being cramped into that tiny form, I could stretch out. My body grew, slowly taking on its original, immense shape, almost filling the cavern. I held the ring up in front of her eyes.

  “You were right,” I told her, the jewel sparkling in what was now a claw. “Your coven did possess many powerful arcane objects. This is just one of them.”

  Ulanda stared at me in terror. She tried to use her scroll, but the dragonfear was too much for her. The words of magic wouldn’t come to her parched, pale lips.

  She’d been sweet enough to invite me to spend the night, and so I did her a favor. I let her see, before she died, a demonstration of the magic now in my possession. Appropriately, it was one of my most prized artifacts – a necklace made out of magical wolves’ teeth – that encircled her lovely neck and tore out her throat.

  All this time, Orin Dark-seer had been hacking at my hind leg with his axe. I let him get in a few licks. The dwarf hadn’t been a bad sort, after all, and he’d done me a favor by showing me the weakness in my defenses. When he seemed likely to draw blood, however, I tired of the contest. Picking him up, I tossed him in the pool of molten lava. Eventually, he’d become part of the mountain – a fitting end for a dwarf. I trust he appreciated it.

  That left Sir Eric, who had wanted, all along, to meet me in honorable battle. I granted him his wish.

  He faced me bravely, calling on Paladine to fight at his side.

  Paladine must have busy with something else just then, f
or he didn’t make an appearance.

  Eric died in a blaze of glory.

  Well, he died in a blaze.

  I trust his soul went straight to the Dome of Creation, where it’s my guess his god must have had some pretty fancy explaining to do.

  They were dead now. All four.

  I put out the fire, swept up the knight’s ashes. Then I shoved the other two corpses out the secret door. The thief and the sorceress would take the place of the skeletal warriors I’d been forced to sacrifice to keep up appearances.

  Crawling back to my treasure pile, I tidied up the gold a bit, where the thief had disturbed it. Then I climbed on top, spread myself out, and burrowed deeply and luxuriously into the gold and silver and jewels. I spread my wings protectively over the treasure, even paused to admire the effect of the firelight shining on my red scales. I wrapped my long tail around the golden nuggets of the dwarves, stretched my body comfortably out over the jewels of the knights, laid my head down on the magical treasure of the sorceress’s coven.

  I was tired, but satisfied. My plan had worked out wonderfully well. I had rid myself of them.

  They’d been the best. The very best.

  Sooner or later, separately or together, they would have come after me. And they might have caught me napping.

  I settled myself onto the treasure more comfortably, closed my eyes. I’d earned my rest.

  And I could sleep peacefully... now.

  The Dragons

  PART III (continued)

  CHAPTER 31

  FURY OF DEATHFYRE

  (1056 PC)

  “Fly to me, my kin-dragons, wyrms of Takhisis!”

  Deathfyre stood tall atop the smoldering caldron of the volcano, sending out a cry that rang across the breadth of Ansalon. The message was swelled, given strength and volume and range, by the Queen of Darkness herself. Riding the wind, the summons reached far, penetrating every corner of the world.

  As the great red dragon bugled forth the call from the heights of the Lords of Doom, the populace of Sanction quailed and cried in the valley below. An hour earlier Deathfyre had first flown over that city in his true form, appearing from the volcanic smog like a vengeful apparition. Crimson wings spread wide, as if to draw the entire city into an embrace of doom, the red dragon swept back and forth over mansion and slum.