by Jean Rabe
“Let’s hope no one comes this way and slips in the blood,” the sorcerer whispered. He glanced at Dhamon, who had resumed the climb. “Better hurry.”
They were nearing the top when the last sliver of sun slipped below the horizon. The land was bathed in a bright, early twilight. The wind picked up quickly and without warning, blowing strongly and whipping their hair about their faces. Palin grimaced.
Clouds gathered, plunging the area into an eerie darkness. Dhamon’s legs pounded up the last of the narrowing path, and as thunder rocked the mountain, he gripped his sword tightly. “Hurry!” he called to the others.
Lightning cut through the sky, revealing the forms of dragons – blues and reds, greens, circling in the air above the Window to the Stars. They stood out starkly against the storm clouds. High in the sky, flecks of metal also glimmered – the silver and gold dragons were arriving. Palin knew Knights of Solamnia would be astride many of them.
A voice boomed above the thunder and the wind, sibilant, inhuman and commanding. “Prepare yourselves!” the voice cried. “The ceremony to herald a new age begins!”
Chapter 20
REBIRTH
Veylona’s knees shook and her teeth chattered, and she cupped both hands over her mouth so no sound would escape. The Dimernesti was peering around a rock at the lip of the plateau, staring at the nine massive dragons, five of them overlords. She was sweating more than she had after trudging for days through the desert of the Northern Wastes. The dragons terrified her.
Jasper knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder giving her no comfort. Groller and Fury were right behind them, and a trembling glance over the kender’s shoulder told Blister that the big half-ogre was every bit as overcome with fear as she.
“Dragonfear,” Palin whispered to Veylona. “It’s an aura the dragons exude.”
“Can you do something?” asked Usha. Her gold eyes were wide. She’d been around dragons before, when dozens of them battled Chaos in the Abyss, but she had never seen dragons so huge.
“I can,” Jasper softly offered. The fingers of his right hand were wrapped tightly around the Fist. “This can influence others, bolstering their courage,” he whispered as he began to concentrate. “If it doesn’t bolster our courage quickly, I think a few of us will be running back down this mountain any moment.”
Jasper closed his eyes. “Goldmoon, I have faith,” he said in a hushed tone. “Have I the strength to...?” His mind wrapped around the energy that played along the scepter’s haft. “Praise the departed gods.”
Across the plateau, the wind started blowing. Hot as a furnace, it was tinged with the scent of sulphur. Lightning flashed repeatedly, illuminating the dragons circling in the sky.
Jasper opened his eyes, studying Dhamon, Rig, and Fiona as they came closer. The expressions on their faces told him they were no longer as afraid. Veylona quietly moved behind him.
“So dry,” she said, her voice faint. “Skin hurts. My eyes burn. So far from ocean home.” The Dimernesti looked up at the sky, her eyes blinking at each lightning stroke. Her pale blue nose quivered, and her lips turned down in a slight frown. A storm was brewing, but she could tell there would be no cleansing rain, only this dry, uncomfortable heat. “Stand a chance, I thought,” she continued. “When Brine died, thought more dragons could die.” Her pupils were wide, her hand clenched around the pommel of the sword Palin had given her, knuckles so pale they looked deathly white.
“There’s always a chance,” Usha said. “There’s —”
Suddenly the wind keened loudly, and the ground was rocked by thunder. Palin and the others swayed, struggling to keep from being pitched over the side of the mountain.
Malystryx was moving slow and stately. All dragon eyes were on her, all dragon heads lowered in respect.
“What’s happening?” Jasper whispered as he tried to peek around the rocks in front of him.
“Something,” Blister replied. “I think the red is going to summon Takhisis.”
Palin pursed his lips and eyed the dragons, trying to pick out the weakest. He wanted to launch a strike but realized they might have to fight all the dragons at once if they revealed themselves now. Gilthanas is right, he thought to himself, this is suicide. We haven’t the strength to defeat even one of them. Aloud, he whispered, “I don’t know what Malys is doing. But I think our time to act may be nearing. We should —”
Khellendros unleashed a bolt of lightning that struck the smooth surface of the plateau and blasted away chunks that harmlessly pelted the overlords’ thick hides. When the sulphurous smell and dust dissipated, the humans saw that the bolt had been directed near a rocky altar that stood alone in the midst of that vast space.
“The magical treasure,” Malys said, her thick, inhuman voice louder than the drumlike thunder, easily carrying above the howling wind. “Place it here.”
One by one, the dragons complied. Their great paws gently scooped up the arcane baubles and carefully placed them on the altar and around its base, oblivious to the people who watched.
“When?” Blister’s voice sounded fragile. “When do we... you know...” Her fingers touched the dagger pommels. “When —”
“Everything!” Malys cried. Her voice rocked the mountain, and the stone formations trembled. She threw back her head and opened her mouth, breathing a stream of fire high into the sky. Then her eyes widened, as she spied the silver and gold dragons descending, so high in the sky they looked like stars toppling toward the earth. The black, green, and blue dragons that had been circling rose to meet them. “Everything! Now!”
Save Khellendros, the dragon overlords worked faster. His paw slowly moved to his treasure pile, nudged the crystal keys, the Medallion of Faith.
A single medallion?
“Fissure!” the blue dragon spat the word so softly that Malys couldn’t hear it. He glanced behind him and saw a small gray shadow. He’d kept the huldre’s presence secret and brought him here, intending to use him to help open the portal when the propitious moment came. “The other medallion, faerie!”
The little gray man shrugged.
“Give it back,” the dragon hissed.
“I don’t have it.” The huldre returned Khellendros’s stare, his smooth face impassive.
Khellendros growled, casting his gaze around the arena. He nudged the keys closer to the altar, and also the lone medallion, keeping the lance at the edge of the treasure circle, near his wounded claw. All this time, he watched Malys.
“Too long has this world been without a dragon goddess!” Malystryx cried. The great red dragon reared back on her haunches, her neck stretched toward the heavens. “Too long has there been no undisputed power, no mighty voice setting the course of Ansalon. Now one has arisen. It is I, and I am all!”
“Malystryx!” Gellidus roared. The air shimmered white around him, as ice crystals spilled from between his jagged teeth and instantly melted in the hot air.
“The new Dark Queen!” Beryl and Onysablet cried practically in unison. Acid spilled from the Black’s jowls, hissing and popping and melting coins and bits of jewelry on the altar.
“The Dark Queen!” began a chant from the rest of the dragons. It was picked up almost as a whisper by the dragons waiting at the base of the plateau. Faint, almost imperceptible, the voices of men joined them.
Steam spiraled from the Red’s cavernous nostrils, and flames licked around her teeth. The tendrils of fire seemed to take on a life of their own. They looked like miniature red dragons sprouting from her vast, horrible mouth.
Palin Majere’s face paled. Somewhere, amid the leaping fires, his aching eyes seemed for a moment to see again the silver visage of the Shadow Sorcerer, who had betrayed them.
“What’s happening?” called Blister, her tiny voice almost lost amid the tumult of sky and mountain.
“It’s a spell,” replied Palin. His voice trembled. “She’s not summoning Takhisis. She thinks she is Takhisis!”
“But I always thought Tak
hisis was supposed to be beautiful,” persisted the kender. “Sounds to me as if Malys has gone funny in the head. Sounds to me...”
Palin hushed her with a gesture. “Now!” he urged his friends. “We must act now! We cannot wait for Gilthanas and Silvara! The silver and gold dragons are too far away and have the evil dragons above to contend with!” The sorcerer stood and pointed at Gellidus, drawing on the power of Dalamar’s ring, summoning his own fire. Bright red flames leapt from Palin’s scarred hands toward the white overlord.
The masking spell abandoned, their Knights of Takhisis guises ran off them like water. They stood revealed in their true forms.
“Now!” Palin shouted.
Gellidus’s chanting erupted in a howl as frosty scales melted beneath Palin’s artifact-powered blast of fire.
Rig and Fiona rushed forward, keeping under Palin’s fiery blast and charging at Gellidus. The young Knight of Solamnia had insisted on attacking this particular dragon, the one who held Southern Ergoth in his frigid grip and terrorized the people her knighthood had sworn to protect. And Rig had volunteered to help her.
Blister and Jasper wheeled toward Onysablet, the great Black, Veylona at their heels.
Groller charged Beryl, the green. For my wife, he thought, and for my daughter too. For the people of my village. Beryl had not been responsible, it was a smaller dragon, he knew. But this was a green one all the same, and the half-ogre was aided by Fury racing alongside him.
Usha began to move forward, but Palin clamped his right hand down on her shoulder. “Don’t try to protect me,” she said. Her long sword gleamed.
“I’m not,” he said, his voice faint. “I need you to protect me.
She instantly understood. He was the greatest threat to the dragons and would become their most likely target. “With my life,” she answered, raising the shield, hefting the sword, and waiting.
Dhamon was darting toward the center of the plateau, straight at the great red overlord. Feril was torn. She stared at Gellidus, the dragon who had ruined her homeland. She wanted to fight him with every fiber of her being. But her heart... Dhamon closed on Malys, alone. An instant later, however, Feril was behind Dhamon, focusing on the Crown of Tides and calling forth what little moisture was held in the air.
“Malystryx!” Dhamon roared. “You made me a murderer! You made me kill Goldmoon! You stole my life, damn you!”
The great red overlord glanced down and noted the presence of the detested human, the lowly man who had defied her and broken free of her control and kept the glaive. Moments ago she would have stopped anything to slay him. But moments ago she was merely a dragon. Now she was a goddess, a being beneath the pettiness of such revenge.
Malys continued her spell, only vaguely registering the sound of human feet that scrabbled up the treasure pile, only mildly feeling the tickle of a sword striking against the thick plates of her belly. Dhamon Grimwulf could not harm her. Perhaps she would slay him when she finished, as a warning to men who dared defy dragonkind.
The Kagonesti watched as Dhamon struck again and again at Malys. His sword clanged ineffectually against her bright red hide, as if each of his blows were parried by a thick metal shield. Tears spilled from her cheeks as she watched him, realizing now how fully the dragon had been responsible for his heinous acts. “How could I have blamed you for Goldmoon?” she murmured.
The Crown of Tides tingled, swept up her tears and began to multiply them into a river of tears.
In the sky overhead, the black, green, and blue dragons closed the distance to a swarm of glittering silvers carrying Knights of Solamnia. Gold dragons were in the lead and the most numerous. But copper, brass, and bronze dragons were among them, as well.
Gilthanas was astride Silvara, hands clasping a long sword. He spotted a fork of lightning as it stretched down toward the mountains, and his mind snared it, twisting it in midair and hurling it back against the lead black dragon. The black howled and flapped madly to stay aloft, its scales and blood raining down on the plateau.
The dozen silvers behind Silvara were streaking forward. She had called more, but these were the first to reach the Window of the Stars portal, perhaps the only ones who would make it here in time. They would not be enough, Silvara knew, but they could be trusted to sacrifice themselves to keep these foul dragons from joining the overlords below and interfering with Palin’s bid to stop Takhisis. She and Gilthanas would gladly sacrifice themselves, too, if necessary.
Fast behind her were Terror and Splendor, bronze and brass dragons who wanted no part of living beneath the Dark Queen again. They, too, would sacrifice themselves for this just cause.
*
“A man?” On the plateau, Beryl, the green overlord, paused in her chant and spotted the half-ogre rushing toward her. She inhaled sharply and dropped her head, opened her mouth and breathed a cloud of caustic gas. It drifted toward the half-ogre and the red-haired wolf. Both flattened themselves against the ground as the cloud passed over their heads.
Groller groaned. The liquid burned his eyes and lungs, stung his skin and overwhelmed his senses. Fury nudged his side. The wolf’s coat was drenched with the stuff, but it did not seem to affect him. With the wolf’s prodding, Groller kept going toward the dragon.
Beryl smelled them as Groller and the wolf came closer. She felt the man’s sword strike her and felt the wolf nip at her dew claws. They could not hurt her; they were not worthy of her attention.
Instead, Beryl stared at Malys. She saw the Red shimmer. Something was happening! The ceremony was working! Beryl’s chant came louder and quicker.
“Malystryx, my queen!” Gellidus the White howled. Palin’s flames had melted away a patch of Gellidus’s scales. And now a woman with flame-colored hair and a dark man, Fiona and Rig, struck at the white dragon. Fiona’s sword drew blood, as she targeted her swings for places where the flames had melted away the scales. The mariner labored at the white dragon’s side, the glaive light in his hands. He swung the weapon and watched with amazement as it sheared through the dragon’s scales and yielded a line of red.
“Malystryx!” Gellidus called again. The man was hurting him. A human was causing him pain! The White turned his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing on Rig.
The white dragon inhaled sharply, drawing the hot hateful air into his lungs. Then he exhaled, releasing a blast of cold, a winter storm.
Fiona was familiar with Frost’s tactics. She barreled into Rig, knocking the mariner away from the force of the sharp ice crystals.
Rig slammed his teeth together and felt his legs shake from the intense cold. He sank to the ground, now wet with the melted ice particles. His arms and chest bled from dozens of wounds where the rapierlike crystals had struck him. He knew he would have been killed, had Fiona not knocked him away.
His hands stayed tight around the glaive haft, and he somehow found the strength to stand and swing the blade again.
“Rig!” Fiona called. Struggling to her feet, she saw he was badly hurt. She was shivering, too. “Move in close, where his breath can’t reach you! Hurry!”
The mariner complied, pressing against Gellidus’s underbelly. He swung the glaive at the thick plates that protected the dragon.
Fiona stabbed at the dragon’s open wound, her arm pumping faster as she heard the dragon’s intake of breath. She pressed herself against Gellidus’s side, feeling an intense rush of cold against her back. She was barely out of the reach of the icy shards.
Malys watched Gellidus breathe ice again, staring at the glaive the man was wielding against the white overlord. It was the one she had coveted and had wanted to help fuel her ceremony. The man was gravely hurt. He was stubborn, determinedly clinging to life and to the weapon, as he struck again.
Malystryx felt power flowing from the magical treasure pile and into her – into her claws, up her legs and toward her furnacelike heart. The ceremony was working! The world before her stood stock-still for a single, delicious, unbearable instant, and in that moment s
he knew she was a goddess.
She would kill Dhamon Grimwulf, then the man swinging the glaive. She would take the glaive and secret it away from all men. She was Takhisis, the All. She tossed back her head and breathed a gout of flame into the heavens. Fire fell back on her, and she relished the sensation.
Dhamon felt the fire strike his shoulders, biting into him. Not so painful as the glaive had felt after he killed Gold-moon, he told himself, nor so painful as being under the red overlord’s total domination.
“Malys!” Dhamon bellowed.
Feril stared up at the red dragon’s massive chin, felt the air cool about her from the gathering water, felt the crown pulse on her head. She concentrated on the ancient bauble, on the dragon, and felt a rush of energy. A beam of water erupted from the crown, a spray as tight and straight as a spear. The water reached up to Malys, knocking the red overlord off balance, sending her back from her magical treasure pile. A white cloud of steam rose into the air, engulfing the dragon.
“You dare!” came a rumbling cry from inside the cloud.
Dhamon spun away from the dragon, his feet slamming against the treasure and carrying him toward Feril. He leapt at her, knocking her to the ground in the same instant that a ball of fire shot out of the steam. It crackled above their bodies and, by happenstance, struck Gellidus squarely in his chest.
“My queen!” Gellidus bellowed.
Fiona fell at the white dragon’s side, catching only the misdirected heat of Malys’s fiery blast. But it was enough to blister her skin and send a wave of pain through her body. Despite her training, the young Knight of Solamnia screamed. Her sword branded her palm, the blade clattering to the ground, and Fiona doubled over.
Rig, too, narrowly avoided the fire blast, protected by Gellidus’s belly. He saw Fiona fall, felt tears well up in his eyes. “Shaon,” he whispered, fearing that Fiona would succumb to a dragon as Shaon had. He didn’t rush to her, though. Instead, he raised the glaive again and struck a blow at the White, cleaving through dragonflesh and striking bone beneath.
Gellidus screamed, beating his wings, and headed into the sky, away from the cloud of black, green, blue and silver dragons overhead. He wanted no part of any more fighting. Krynn’s new dragon goddess could damn him, he realized, but Gellidus, who detested pain and heat, turned his great head toward the west and with painful strokes of his wings started back toward the blessed cold of Southern Ergoth.
