The Day Of The Tempest

by Jean Rabe

  *

  While Blister and Rig busied themselves in port, Dhamon turned his attention to Sageth. Sitting by the capstan and earnestly consulting his tablet, the old man clucked to himself.

  “I’ve decided,” he said when he finally acknowledged Dhamon’s presence.

  “Decided what?” Dhamon knelt next to him and tried to make some sense of the scratchings on the clay.

  The old man rubbed his bald head and seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he drummed a finger in the center of the tablet. “See, it’s very clear,” he said. “The ancient magic. The best time to destroy the items would be at night – with the one moon in full view, low on the horizon. And in a barren place. The earth could well shake as the deed is done. Don’t want people to get hurt. Or buildings.”

  Dhamon followed the man’s ringer across the scratches. He could read well enough, but not whatever language was on the clay. “Why at night? Why does it make a difference?”

  “It might not,” the old man tsk-tsked. “But then again it might. Don’t you understand? It’s probably not the night, it’s probably the moon. It was left by the gods – in place of the three we used to have, Lunitari, Nuitari, and Solinari. So there is a bit of god magic in the single moon, as there is still a bit of god magic in Krynn. But until the ancient artifacts are destroyed and their magic released, well... perhaps even the three moons will return. Oh, to bring such magic back to Ansalon.” Sageth pursed his lips, staring into Dhamon’s eyes. “I know you don’t understand all this magic prattle. Most warriors don’t. But your elf lady does. She knows magic. She knows it’s important.”

  “I know it’s important,” Dhamon replied testily. “With more magic, the sorcerers would have a better chance against the overlords.” He rubbed his leg, feeling the hardness of the scale beneath his pants and shivering involuntarily.

  “So it’s all up to your friends,” Sageth continued. “I certainly hope they’re successful, and can gain the pieces before the dragons can. Now, this medallion we seek, on Schallsea?”

  “Goldmoon’s.”

  “Yes. Well, it won’t be enough. Must have four, I think. Four should do it. See my notes here? Three might do it, might. But four to be certain. We must be certain because there might not be time for a second attempt.”

  “My friends will be successful,” Dhamon said. “Or they will die trying.”

  Chapter 21

  GENERAL UREK

  The yellow eyes blinked, then separated from the darkness, edging toward the faint light spilling in through the doorway and revealing the tower’s occupant. An Aurak, one of the rarest and most powerful of the draconians, stood before Palin. The creature was gold, though in the scant light he looked more ochre. He was wingless and had a pronounced, lizardlike snout filled with an abundance of pointed teeth. His taloned hands flexed slowly, and the claws of his feet clicked harshly against the stone floor. Tiny scales covered every inch of him, including his stubby tail, which undulated slowly. Palin guessed the Aurak must be nearly eight feet tall, remarkably large and powerful for a draconian.

  The creature’s muscles were thick, its chest broad.

  The Aurak extended a scaly arm and crooked a long talon at the sorcerer, as if beckoning him, “I’m not going in there,” Jasper announced, peeking from behind Palin’s leg. The dwarf glanced over his shoulder at the Kagonesti as he contemplated a route of escape.

  “Draconians are creatures of evil,” Feril said in a hushed voice. “I think we should —”

  “Enter, of course, since we’ve been invited.” The sorcerer glided inside, leaving the door open so Jasper and Feril could follow. “What we’re looking for is somewhere in here. And we have to get it, or Usha is lost.”

  The dwarf offered a silent prayer to Reorx, a god favored by dwarves who was long-since absent from Krynn. Then he followed after Palin. Feril was the last to step beyond the doorway.

  Inside, where the heady scents of the plants and the earth were subdued, another smell assaulted the trio. The odor of death and the coppery scent of blood hung heavy in the air, even overpowering the musty dampness of the stone and rotting wood. The dwarf’s hair stood up along the back of his neck, and his stubby fingers drifted to the haft of the warhammer hooked in his belt. Feril’s fingers rested on her bag, and the Kagonesti mentally went over the items inside – clay, arrowheads, stones, things she could focus her magic on to use against the scaly creature.

  The door boomed shut behind them, and torches were instantly lit. Fat-soaked, they sputtered, but provided enough light so that the trio could inspect their surroundings. They stood in a large room that occupied the entire first floor of the tower. At one time there had been wooden walls to divide the space, but they had long since rotted away, their remnants in moldy shards on the floor. A curving stone staircase wound up the wall and disappeared into darkness overhead. There were broad scorch marks on the stone floor and along the walls, as if several magical bursts of fire had been released – or a few draconians had exploded there.

  Suddenly more than a dozen draconians surrounded the trio, stepping away from the wall and revealing themselves as Kapaks, cunning creatures who were typically employed as assassins. Copper-hued muscles bulged and rippled, shimmering like polished coins in the torchlight. Their wings flapped slowly, and their green eyes were riveted on Palin.

  The sorcerer took a step toward the Aurak and opened his mouth to speak, but the draconian, who sparkled darkly in the torchlight, held up a clawed hand to silence him.

  “You are not allies of the Green Dragon, elssse the elves would have ssslain you.” The Aurak had a deep, resonant voice, and sounded like a giant, hissing snake. “But you are not friends of the elves either, elssse they would not have captured you, and they would not be keeping one of your allies for insurance.”

  “These people are not our friends!” one of the Kapaks shouted. His scratchy voice echoed eerily off the damp walls. The Kapak clenched and released his fists. “Humans and elves are not our friends. We should eat them.”

  Jasper bristled at being overlooked, but decided to stay silent He glanced around the spacious room. Three against thirteen, he thought. With Palin’s and Feril’s magic, that shouldn’t be too unfair.

  Killing these foul things would be the only way to get the Fist of E’li, and would probably benefit Ansalon. Thirteen fewer draconians would be a good start.

  He felt a pang of guilt at having such bloodthirsty thoughts. Goldmoon had taught him to love peace. His grip loosened around the hammer haft, then he heard footfalls from above. The dwarf glanced at the Kagonesti. She had heard them also. Her gaze drifted to the stairs, and Jasper looked up, then swallowed hard.

  Scaly legs descended from the darkness. Copper-hued, they were Kapaks. Another dozen of them. The dwarf sucked in his lower lip. The Kapaks were followed by a trio of immense Baaz – draconians made from the eggs of bronze dragons. Their snouts were shorter, and their skin was smoother, looking more like bronze leather than scales. But patches of scales glimmered in the torchlight here and there, around their broad shoulders and at the tips of their tails. Their legs were thick and powerful, corded muscles standing out.

  “This is getting worse,” the dwarf whispered. He heard more footfalls above, hinting that there were at least several more draconians somewhere. “Great idea coming here. Abandoned tower,” Jasper said. “Abandoned, my Uncle Flint’s beard. Why – “

  “Sssilence!” the Aurak snapped. The draconian turned toward the staircase, watching a lone draconian come into the room. This draconian was slower than the others, taking shaky steps and holding a clawed hand against the wall for support. His gold scales gleamed as if each one were carefully polished. His breastplate of silver was equally shiny and was bound by strips of leather. It had obviously not been made for him, so it did not fit him well. The breastplate bore an etched rose, a symbol of the Knights of Solamnia. A dark red skirt hung below the armor, and a worn and threadbare cloak hung from the creature’s
shoulders. A formidable-looking axe hung from a belt about the Aurak’s waist.

  As the creature reached the bottom of the steps, all the draconians bowed to him. He was smaller than the others. The leathery flesh about his jowls sagged, and his muscles were ill-defined. But there was an aura of power surrounding him, and it was clear he had the respect of all of the draconians in the room.

  “General Urek,” the Kapak at the base of the stairs announced. He waved a coppery arm toward the trio, “Our prisoners.”

  “Prisoners!” Jasper sputtered.

  The draconians closest to the dwarf raised their claws and stepped forward. Jasper took his hand away from his hammer, held his outstretched fingers to his side. The Kapaks paused. Feril’s fingers slipped into her pouch, and she tugged free an arrowhead, which she quickly hid in her palm. She glanced at the general. If need be, she’d call on her magic and send it his way. She would not be taken prisoner by these hideous creatures, even if defying them meant her death.

  “Prisoners?” General Urek said. His voice was soft, yet intense. “I would not consider holding Palin Majere prisoner.”

  The sorcerer was visibly surprised that the old Aurak knew who he was. Palin nodded to the Aurak, showing a semblance of respect. Feril seemed to relax just a bit, but Jasper grew even more nervous. A few more draconians filed into the room.

  “And perhaps I will not hold his associates captive either,” the old draconian continued, “if I hear in good faith that he intends to keep our presence secret.”

  “You would trussst the word of a human?” the other Aurak asked. He strode toward the general, towering above the older draconian. “Trussst a sssorcerer?”

  “This human, I would trust,” General Urek returned. “Besides, there has been enough killing this day.” The general waved a thin arm, and several of the Kapaks stepped away from the far wall. Cloaked by the shadows, in a section of the room where the torchlight barely reached, was a mound of bodies. More than two dozen reasonably fresh corpses. Their blood had congealed about them on the stone floor, looking black as oil. Their weapons were piled near them.

  “Knights of Takhisis,” Palin said. If the draconians killed that many of them, they could well overpower he, Feril, and Jasper. The sorcerer knew he had the strength to cast a spell or two that would bring down the tower and most of the draconians in it. But that would make recovering the scepter impossible, which would mean Usha would die. And they themselves might not escape the disaster.

  “The knights came upon us only a few hours ago,” the general explained. “We could make no peace with them. They were agents of Governor-General Mirielle Abrena.”

  Jasper risked a question. “How would you know that?”

  “A few... talked... before they died,” the old Aurak answered. “We could not risk their returning to their vile master – the woman who holds some of our brothers as slaves in Neraka.”

  “She ssserves the Red, the overlord, Malyssstryx,” the large Aurak added.

  “So you’re hiding” Feril said. “You don’t want the dragons to know where you are.”

  General Urek nodded. “We are a dying race,” he said, his voice growing sorter. “There are few females among our kind, and none here. They are rarer than Auraks. A few of us die when the dragons create spawn but most feel it is our chance to reproduce. We have only a few opportunities to procreate, and many draconians welcome the spawning process. I am not one of them.”

  “Did you say ‘dragons’?” Palin asked, “You mean dragons other than Khellendros.”

  “The Red knows how to fashion spawn, too. And she is teaching her allies as well. Though the Green is not one of her cohorts, we suspect she has learned the secret, too.”

  The sorcerer let out a deep breath. Multiple dragon armies could be being birthed while they stood here talking. Perhaps the Shadow Sorcerer was right, the Red was much more of a threat than Khellendros.

  “So we hide from Beryl and the other overlords, and we watch. Perhaps one day we will learn how to procreate on our own using this spawn process. Perhaps we will not die out.”

  “My friends and I are working against the dragons,” Palin said. “We’re here looking for a scepter – the Fist of Eli.”

  “What they were looking for,” the general said, again indicating the fallen knights.

  Palin stared into the old Aurak’s rheumy eyes. “We need the scepter. It’s powerful, and no doubt you could benefit by keeping it for yourselves. But we intend to use it to raise the level of magic Krynn already has, and in turn to defeat the overlords, if possible. If you would give it to us, we could —”

  “We did not know it was powerful until the knights came,” he said. “We thought it merely a curious treasure, a bauble to hold and admire.”

  “With it...”

  “We no longer have it, Palin Majere “the general said. He shook his scaly head. “While we battled these knights, more of their forces climbed the tower and entered our treasure room, absconding with the Fist of E’li. When darkness foils, we will pursue them. They cannot move through the woods as fast as we can, and we have Sivaks among our ranks. We intend to leave no witnesses among them to lead others back to our stronghold.”

  Palin knew that Sivak draconians were created by Takhisis from the stolen eggs of silver dragons. They could fly; unhampered by the thick ground cover they would have little trouble closing the distance to the knights. Middle’s Knights of Takhisis would undoubtedly take the shortest route out of the forest, heading toward the coast or directly north into Abanasinia. The Sivaks would capitalize on this knowledge.

  “You have a few hours of light left, Palin Majere” General Urek walked toward the sorcerer, the claws of his feet making dull clicking sounds against the stone. “If you gain the scepter before us, it is yours and we will not challenge you for it. But if we regain it first, we will keep it. Perhaps we could find a way to harness its magic against the Green.”

  Palin heard the door open behind him. “I would hurry,” General Urek said.

  *

  “No wonder the elves stay away from that place,” Jasper said once they were safely away from the draconians’ tower. The dwarf was sweating profusely, his stubby legs propelling him as fast as possible. But it wasn’t the heat or the exertion making him sweat. It was fear. The dwarf had felt the sensation before – long months ago on the deck of the ship as it made its way from New Ports to Palanthas. They’d nearly all been pitched into the icy water near Southern Ergoth and swallowed by the White who swam far below them. And he’d felt fear when the blue dragon called Gale had appeared above the ship and killed Shaon. He was almost getting used to fear.

  When they were about a half mile from the hidden tower, Feril urged Palin and Jasper to stop. She dropped to her knees and dug her fingers into the damp ground. “We can only guess which way the knights are heading,” she said. “But the earth can tell us for certain.”

  “We have to hurry,” Palin said.

  The dwarf studied him. The sorcerer was sweating, too, and had a troubled expression on his face. “So I’m not so alone,” he whispered to himself.

  “If we don’t find the scepter and return to the elves, I’ll lose Usha,” Palin said.

  Feril gently swayed back and forth on her knees, keeping time with the movement of the branches blown by the breeze. She started singing, a tune that sounded like water softly splashing. “Mother earth,” she whispered, ending her song, “give me your secrets. Tell me where the men walk. The ones in black, with hard shells like beetles.” She hummed again, and felt her mind slipping from her own fleshy husk, flowing down her arms and into her fingers, then into the loam. It was rich earth, full of moisture and life and strength.

  Magic usually drained the Kagonesti, but not this enchantment. She felt energized by it, and she suspected it was because the dragon had ensorcelled the land. Her senses slipped around the bits of rock lodged in the dirt, around rotting pieces of wood. Dead plants added to the life that sprung f
rom the soil, added to the energy and the power of this great forest that pulsed into her. As she probed deeper, there were tiny skulls – squirrels and rabbits that had died and were joined forever with this place. She felt the fervor of their spirits in the soil

  It was then that the earth spoke to her, revealing its birth at the hands of the gods and how time had nurtured it. Centuries passed in the elf’s mind while only moments passed around her swaying body. The Kagonesti listened to the stories of how the dragon had added to the forest’s power, enabling the giant plants to grow, the ferns and bushes to cover every inch and to send their leaves rocketing toward the sun. The earth reveled in the dragon’s presence, considering it the source of much of its nourishment. The earth also liked the elves, who had protected it in the years before the dragon came, and did not object to the presence of the draconians.

  Feril sensed that the earth was puzzled, torn between the two sides, and well aware that the dragon had slain elves and other creatures. But the essence of the dragon’s victims joined with the soil and the forest, and added to its unique energy. Death was life in the Qualinesti woods.

  “The men with shells,” Feril whispered.

  Like beetles, the earth answered.

  “Yes,” the Kagonesti replied, gaining a mental picture.

  And the men the color of the sky and of the jays and of the sweet, juicy berries that ripen in the spring.

  Feril was bewildered, but she continued. “These men, they serve another who serves a dragon – one who cares nothing for your beautiful forest. Her realm is barren and hot, lifeless.”

  Hot lifelessness, the rich soil replied. I know where these beetles scamper.

  The rocks and bits of wood, tiny skulls, and sprouting acorns flashed by Feril’s senses. The Kagonesti’s mind sped ahead, arcing to the north and following the pull of the earth. All of a sudden she felt a great weight upon her back, though there was nothing there save the soft leather tunic she wore. But the weight she felt seemed oppressive, and she directed her senses upward, recognizing mailed, thick-soled boots that trod heavily on the ground and trampled the ferns.