The Eve of the Maelstrom

by Jean Rabe

  “As you wish,” came Silvara’s musical voice. “Gilthanas...”

  The elf brandished his sword, but didn’t use it. He stood his ground for a moment, then reluctantly stepped aside so the shadow dragon could leave the cave. The limestone chamber brightened a little, and the air seemed to warm a bit.

  “You’re hurt.” Gilthanas heard Silvara say to the shadow dragon.

  “I will heal,” came the whispered reply

  There were other words exchanged. Gilthanas tried to listen, but the dragon voices dropped to inaudible tones. The elf trusted Silvara to take care of herself, but he hoped she knew what she was doing by talking to the mysterious shadow dragon, a creature as large as she.

  Now Gilthanas warily approached Dhamon. The glaive lay several feet away, all but covered by the blood. Dhamon made no move toward it.

  “You killed Goldmoon,” Gilthanas began. He glanced over his shoulder toward the cave entrance. The two dragons were snout to snout, as their words, sounding like wind chimes, continued. The elf returned his attention to Dhamon, kept the sword pointed in front of him.

  “And Jasper,” Dhamon said. His voice was remarkably soft, and it hurt his throat to speak.

  “No. You wounded him severely, but the dwarf is alive.”

  “I deserve death,” Dhamon said, looking at Gilthanas’s sword, then raising his eyes to meet the elf’s.

  “Some would argue you deserve worse,” the elf returned. “But I’m not your judge, and we’re a long way from Schallsea – where you should be tried and punished.”

  “And killed,” Dhamon whispered.

  “Maybe,” Gilthanas’s voice was stern, offering no pity. “That’s not for me to decide. Palin would like to believe you weren’t responsible for your actions, that the Red was behind everything. Is that true?”

  Dhamon didn’t answer. He searched for Malystryx in his mind, reaching a hand down to feel the cracked scale still imbedded in his leg. He felt her, briefly, like a whisper on the wind. She still watched like an eavesdropper in the secret part of his mind.

  “Is that true?” Gilthanas almost shouted.

  “She’s still here,” Dhamon said, pointing to his forehead. His voice was getting stronger, though his throat still ached, as did the rest of him. “Maybe you should judge me. If I can’t be rid of her, I’m not safe. I can’t be trusted. Malys wants the glaive. She was forcing me to bring it to her.”

  The elf let out a deep breath. “I’ll take your weapon,” he said.

  Dhamon gestured toward it.

  “And you’re coming with me, too. Eventually we’ll make our way back to Schallsea or to the Tower of Wayreth. It depends where Palin wants you. Silvara risked a lot to come here, flying through Sable’s realm. We’ll take a different route back.”

  Dhamon shook his head. “You don’t want me with you. Believe me.”

  “Nor do I,” came the raspy voice from the cave entrance. “Unlike the silver, I have no desire to be shackled to a man.” The shadow dragon slid back inside the cave, bringing with him the cold air and the blackness. In the entrance behind him, the sky glowed dark purple and the stars began to shine through. “But I am not done with you. Dhamon Grimwulf, they call you, a former Knight of Takhisis, a renegade of Goldmoon. Malystryx, I will call you – but for only a few hours more.”

  “I will help.” The voice was Silvara’s. She stood in the cave entrance, framed by the twilight sky, looking as she had when Gilthanas first met her – a Kagonesti with sparkling eyes and flowing hair.

  The elf noiselessly glided into the cave, following the shadow dragon. She stopped briefly to look at Gilthanas. “Wait for us outside, and be vigilant,” she said. “He tells me a legion of red spawn is patrolling the mountains, and there are Rig and the others to watch for.”

  Gilthanas opened his mouth to protest, but quickly thought better of it. His silver dragon companion had made her mind up about something, and his relationship was too tenuous with her to argue about it right now. “Be careful,” was all he said. “Call me if you need me.” He watched her follow the shadow dragon into the darkest recesses of the cave. Then he slipped outside.

  *

  Gilthanas drew his cloak about him as he paced. The elf knew a lot about dragons and was desperately in love with the silver dragon, but he’d never seen a creature before similar to the one in there with her. The shadow dragon had blinded an entire village. He prayed to the departed gods that Silvara was safe in the creature’s presence and that she knew what she was doing.

  He’d known Silvara for decades, having met her a lifetime ago, though it had taken him a long time to admit he was in love with her. When she revealed that she was not a Kagonesti, but in reality a silver dragon, he spurned her and went his own way. It took him a long time to realize how lonely was the way, how incomplete was the life he’d chosen.

  Palin Majere gave him an opportunity to redeem himself. When Palin and Rig and the others rescued him from the Bastion of Darkness, a Knights of Takhisis stronghold in the Northern Wastes, he threw his lot in with them, vowing to help them fight the overlords. Months ago that promise took him to Southern Ergoth, where he was reunited with Silvara. This time she’d taken on the aspect of a Solamnic knight. He saw a chance to recover the love they once shared. She wanted nothing to do with him at first; she was as cold to him as the frigid landscape that surrounded them. But he was stubborn, and he discovered that she still cared for him.

  And so he trod lightly with her now, afraid that to do otherwise would give her cause to leave him. He shoved his stubborn demeanor aside and let his heart rule his actions for a change. He stared at the stars, glimmering like dragon scales.

  *

  Silvara gazed at the scale on Dhamon’s leg. Behind her the shadow dragon whispered a word, and a pale silver globe of light appeared above her. The shadow dragon shrank away from the light, clinging to the thick shadows and watching the dragon in elven form.

  “Malystryx’s?” she asked, as she pointed at the cracked scale.

  Dhamon nodded and explained how he happened to come by it. A dying Knight of Takhisis had slapped it on his leg and doomed him.

  “Diabolical magic,” Silvara murmured. She indicated he should sit, and he picked a spot near the shadow dragon, where blood did not soak the floor. Silvara knelt next to him, the globe hovering a few feet away. “You broke the scale?” she asked the dragon.

  “Yes,” the creature hissed. “I determined that to remove it would kill him – a fate he did not seem to mind.”

  “I deserve to die,” Dhamon whispered. “I killed Goldmoon. Gilthanas said I hurt Jasper. There was a Solamnic spy in Brukt, and I —”

  Silvara shushed him and ran her fingers along the scale. “Malys is still buried deep within him,” the shadow dragon said. “The Red refuses to let him go.”

  “She’s watching both of you,” Dhamon interrupted. “Through my eyes. I can feel her watching. But I don’t think she can control me any more.”

  “No,” the shadow dragon said. “But she must be... completely exorcised.”

  “How?” he asked.

  The shadow dragon crept closer. “With a spell.”

  Silvara looked at the mysterious dragon. “What magic do you know?”

  “Some magic is my own. Some magic was taught to me by another,” the dragon answered. His voice sounded fragile.

  “Who?”

  The shadow dragon shook his head. “My demon to bear, and none of your concern. The scale, however, is.”

  “This spell?”

  “Give something of yourself, Silvara, as Malys gave something of herself.” The shadow dragon’s eyes focused on her elf form’s hair. “That will do.” He stretched out a talon and cut off a long hank.

  Silvara caught the hair, held it, and for several interminable moments met the shadow dragon’s gaze. Something unspoken passed between them. She tied the hair about Dhamon’s leg, like a tourniquet, just above the scale.

  “And something o
f yourself,” Silvara added. She retreated to the pool of blood, cupped a handful, and poured it into the crack between the two halves of the scale.

  The shadow dragon closed his eyes, and the cave air grew colder and darker. The silver globe of light faded. The dragon placed a claw over Dhamon’s leg, the weight practically crushing it again. Silvara touched the claw, giving her magical strength to the shadow dragon, just as she could give it to Gilthanas, allowing him to increase the power of his spells whenever they were together.

  Dhamon felt terribly cold. His teeth chattered, and he shivered uncontrollably. He was pinned to the frigid floor, against the bitter cold wall, anchored beneath the heavy, chilling touch of the dragon. The Red at the back of his mind spat and hissed, fighting to stay inside Dhamon’s head. But her magic had been weakened when the scale was fractured.

  The cold intensified and Dhamon’s eyes drifted shut. He was in a forest, fighting Knights of Takhisis. Feril was there, her tangle of curls fanning away from her unblemished face. Palin and his son, Ulin, were there also, as was Gilthanas. With the glaive, Dhamon could not be bested. He cut down the knights one by one. The last he cradled in his arms, listening to the man’s dying words. The knight, an agent of Malys, had tugged a red scale free from his bleeding chest and thrust it upon Dhamon’s leg.

  He drifted toward unconsciousness, the cold claiming him, the darkness welcoming and swallowing him.

  *

  It was dark outside. Gilthanas continued to pace. Silvara had been inside with the shadow dragon for more than an hour. He’d heard nothing – nothing but the wind and chimes that he tried unsuccessfully to decipher. Once he heard Dhamon moan and mention Feril’s name, then Palin’s, and finally Goldmoon’s. The elf flinched at the last name.

  “Gilthanas.”

  The elf turned to look into the cave, then quickly realized the voice came from in front of him. The air shimmered, and a hazy image of a black-cloaked man appeared, seemingly floating like a ghost. The image sharpened and a second one dressed in white joined it.

  “The Master. Palin,” the elf stated.

  The image of Palin nodded, and Gilthanas noted that his sorcerer-friend looked especially tired. “The Master and I were searching for Feril and the others,” Palin began. His voice sounded hollow and distant.

  “As were we,” Gilthanas added.

  “We discovered they passed through Brukt and went into the mountains. But we have not found them,” the Master interjected. “Not yet.”

  “We have found Dhamon,” the elf said.

  “Is he...” Palin’s question hung unfinished in the air.

  “I don’t know how he is. Silvara’s with him, inside, along with some mysterious black dragon. I think it’s a shadow dragon. But I intend to find out what’s going on.”

  Behind Gilthanas, a large black shadow slipped from the cave and dropped over the ledge, spreading its wings and disappearing into the deepening night.

  *

  Dhamon’s eyes fluttered open. Silvara was in front of him. The shadow dragon was nowhere to be seen.

  “The dragon said we could stay until morning. How are you feeling?”

  “Cold.”

  She helped him to his feet. “There’s some water over here.

  Let’s get you cleaned and wash that blood out of your clothes. Then let’s get you dressed.”

  *

  “Silvara?”

  “You can come in.”

  Gilthanas stepped inside. The cave was lit softly by the glowing silver orb that continued to hover in the air.

  Dhamon was at the back of the cave, dressed in tattered black leggings and the black leather tunic he’d worn under the Knights of Takhisis armor. He was holding the glaive. It felt warm in his grip, though no longer uncomfortable. He leaned it against the cave wall and put on his black cloak. The garments were still damp from the washing.

  “Dhamon? It is Dhamon! Usha, look!” Blister rushed in, nearly knocking over a surprised Gilthanas. Usha Majere followed, stopping just ahead of the elf. The kender hurried toward the back of the cave, pausing only a moment to ogle the light globe and to edge around the pool of blood. “What happened to your hair? Your hair’s black.” She put her hands on her hips. “It used to be blond.”

  Dhamon glanced at the pool of the shadow dragon’s blood that spread on the floor. His eyes were flecked with silver.

  “What happened?” the kender persisted.

  “The dragon’s blood,” Dhamon said finally. “The blood wouldn’t wash out.”

  Silvara smiled a hello to Usha, joining Gilthanas at the cave entrance. She read the myriad questions on his face, and her eyes told him the answers would come later. “Did Palin send them?” she asked softly.

  He nodded. “Do you think you can carry all of us?

  “Of course.” She grinned, her elven fingers folding over his. He squeezed her hand, drew her close. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” he replied. “Palin will contact us in the morning. I suspect he’ll first want us to head toward the coast of Khur, maybe search for Feril and Rig.”

  She tipped her head. “And then find the land of the Dimernesti?”

  He nodded.

  “There’s a sea dragon there, you know,” Silvara said. “A very big one.”

  Chapter 12

  BLUE INTRIGUES

  The blue dragon could not smell the giant scorpions, and this bothered him. Gale could hear them with little effort. Their mandibles were clacking together for no apparent reason, their feet skittering over the stone floor of Khellendros’s lair. He could sense the magic in them, hear their heartbeats whenever he concentrated – the identical rhythms never varied.

  The sentries obeyed Gale to the letter, giving him no cause to doubt them. But the blind dragon did not like them, and he especially did not like the fact that they were created by Fissure, the huldre.

  When Khellendros became sole consort to the reborn

  Malystryx – the new Takhisis as she dared call herself – when this lair and this realm became Gale’s, the giant scorpions would die. Gale relished this thought, just as he eagerly anticipated banishing the dark faerie. If Khellendros managed to open the portal, the huldre would be left on Krynn – of this Gale had no doubt. But the faerie would not be left in the Northern Wastes. The lesser blue dragon would not tolerate the presence of a creature he could not bring himself to trust. Spawn would guard Gale’s lair, loyal only to him.

  The blue dragon stretched out on Khellendros’s desert sand, the scorpions behind him at the lair’s entrance, still clacking and skittering. Four barbarian women stood in front of him. Gale smelled the sweetness of the persistent evening rain, fouled by the scent of the wet animal skins the humans wore. Above all, the dragon smelled their fear. One human had actually soiled herself. Gale smiled grimly. He imagined what they looked like: muscular humans, skin baked from the sun, their hair a mass of tangles. In his mind’s eye, he saw their eyes, wide and staring, afraid to blink or to look away from him. Their legs must be aching, Gale thought smugly. He had not permitted them to sit for hours.

  He detested them.

  The humans reminded him of Dhamon Grimwulf – the man who had stolen his sight, who in years past tricked the dragon into thinking the pair could be allies. Dhamon had deceived him into believing a human could befriend a dragon.

  He hated them with all his soul.

  Gale had been busy, raiding the smallest of the barbarian villages that dotted the Northern Wastes. He relied on his hearing to select those individuals with the strongest heartbeats, the youngest, healthiest, and most suitable to become spawn. These humans would make superior spawn to the ones Khellendros had captured. The Storm Over Krynn had decided a female body was necessary for Kitiara. The overlord could transform these women into spawn and select one of them for the ultimate transformation.

  Gale intended to pay very close attention. When the Northern Wastes was his, and he was an overlord, he would cr
eate his own spawn army.

  The blue wished Dhamon Grimwulf were here. What would Dhamon’s fear smell like as he was turned into a spawn, as his human shell melted away to be replaced by scales? But first Gale wished he could blind Dhamon, stealing the most precious of his former partner’s senses.

  The rain fell harder as Gale studied the barbarian women. It was coming in driving sheets now. The wind had picked up, too, howling to announce the approach of the blue dragon overlord. Gale imagined the lightning flicker, smelled the trace of heat in the air. He knew almost precisely when the thunder would boom, coaxed by the violent change in the temperature of the air.

  The thunder came quicker and louder, and now he could barely hear the flap of the overlord’s wings.

  “Khellendros,” Gale said, nodding his head as the blue overlord landed.

  The Storm Over Krynn studied the four humans. Their fear had grown measurably since the larger dragon arrived.

  “You have done well,” the overlord announced after several moments. “These are fine shells.”

  “Fine enough for your Kitiara?”

  Khellendros narrowed his eyes, as his gaze drifted from one specimen to the next. Four women, all muscular, young and strong. “The females,” the Storm said. “Prepare them.”

  Gale herded the four into the lair, the giant scorpions skittering out of his way. The barbarians’ fear had reached a fever pitch, and the lesser blue dragon found the scent intoxicating.

  Khellendros remained just beyond the entrance, concentrating on the storm, demanding the wind keen louder.

  These women were the best human subjects he had seen. Kitiara would approve, he decided.

  He stared into the driving rain, picturing her again. Blue-scaled armor, cloak falling about her ankles, black curls whipping in the wind, eyes wide and staring into his. He recalled what he felt when he first lost her: immeasurably empty, though in truth no emptier than he felt now. He’d been bitter, and had felt ineffectual, as he had not been able to prevent her death. With her passing, he had lacked the motivation to do anything important – except to keep his pledge to her.