by Jean Rabe
“Do you want the Red?” the thunderous voice repeated. The words were so loud, they hurt his ears.
Dhamon stretched out his hands and caught Huma’s lance. He whirled as Malystryx bore down on him, and darted forward, scrabbling clumsily over the last bits of treasure, closing the gap.
The lance parted Malystryx’s flesh, running deep into her chest and drawing from her a bone-jarring scream that shook the sky. Dhamon tried to pull the lance free, but it was lodged too deeply. Its haft scalded against his palms as the red dragon’s fiery blood spilled across the weapon. Dhamon released the lance and stepped back, watched Malys writhe. Khellendros’s claw streaked toward her, striking her, batting the huge red dragon away and off through the sky.
Malystryx sailed from the plateau, Huma’s lance buried in her, fire erupting from her mouth.
“Khellendros!” Onysablet called. “Khellendros!” The Black lowered her head in respect.
Beryl, the green overlord, snarled, but did the same. “Khellendros!” she cried.
The cry was picked up by Hollintress and Gale, echoed by the dragons at the base of the mountain.
“Hear me!” Khellendros roared, the words causing the mountain to shudder violently. “I am Khellendros, The Storm Over Krynn! Khellendros, The Portal Master! Khellendros, once called Skie by Kitiara!”
The great blue dragon gestured toward the rocky formations that ringed that plateau. The glow that radiated from him stretched out to bathe the stones. The rocks absorbed the light and began to resonate, their loud hum filling the sky.
Overhead, where black, green, blue, and silver, gold, brass, copper, and bronze dragons clashed, the hum could be heard, too. The dragons paused in their aerial battle. The Knights of Solamnia atop their silvers peered down, eyes straining to see what was happening.
Khellendros drew the last of the magical energy from the treasure at his feet and from Fissure. Weakened so he could no longer stand, Fissure fell.
Then Khellendros’s mind reached out to the stones, calling for access to The Gray. The megalith glowed, the smoky air between the twin pillars of rock sparkled, and then it parted. Stars shone through. Stars and wisps of gray.
“Home,” The huldrefolk whispered. He tried crawling toward the megalith, but Gale’s claw held him in place. “The Gray.”
The stones hummed louder, as Palin and the others covered their ears.
“Palin Majere!” Khellendros called. “I give you your life and the lives of your friends this day. The dragons here will not harm you, on my word. Neither will the armies below. You are free to go. But this day only!” His voice trailed off. “Leave now!” the dragon continued. “When next we meet, Palin Majere, I will not be so generous.”
His legs bunched and he leapt, rocking the mountain and tossing Palin and the others to their knees.
Khellendros flew toward the megalith. One vast claw reached out for a blue female dragon – Khellendros’s chosen vessel for Kitiara’s spirit. The blue female instinctively shrank back, and for a moment Khellendros wavered in his flight. As he did so, the surface of The Gray seemed to ripple and pulse. Tendrils of mist reached out and encircled the blue dragon. They stroked and embraced his great body, seeming to lift it toward the darkened canopy of the sky.
“Kitiara,” cried Khellendros, “at last I come to you!”
The portal’s surface shivered and Palin, staring at it, thought he beheld, for a single, eternal instant, a dark face of enormous, heart-wrenching beauty. Then the body of the blue seemed to elongate impossibly, stretching out between the stones. A thunderclap shattered the mountain-tops, and in the distance, unnoticed now by anyone, the shadow dragon lifted his wings and sailed silently into a cloud.
Khellendros was gone.
“Kitiara!” the wind whispered.
Beryllinthranox stepped away from the half-ogre, gesturing toward the side of the mountain. Onysablet did the same, then nudged Rig and his fellows with her snakelike tail. “Leave,” the dragon overlords hissed.
Rig picked up Veylona, as Goldmoon cradled Jasper’s body in her arms, the scepter resting atop his blistered, bloody chest.
Fiona took the kender’s hand and led her toward Palin and Usha, who had started down the mountain.
Feril stood with Dhamon, looking up at the sky. She leaned into him, her hand closing into his, drawing him toward the edge of the plateau. He mutely followed her, eyes incredulously staring at Goldmoon’s back.
The group walked unmolested past the lesser dragons at the base of the mountain. In silence, the rows of Knights of Takhisis parted, allowing them safe passage, as did the goblins, hobgoblins, ogres, draconians, and barbarians.
They didn’t stop until they were well beyond the armies and until the sun was rising in a cloudless sky. Ulin, Sunrise, Gilthanas, and Silvara were there waiting for them. They all showed surprise at seeing Goldmoon, and sadness at the sight of Jasper. Their glances spoke volumes, though not one word was uttered. There would be time for words and tears later.
Chapter 21
DEATHS AND BEGINNINGS
The half-ogre caught a ferry from Schallsea Island shortly after Jasper was buried. He intended to go home, to visit the graves of his wife and daughter, and to search for a red-haired wolf whom he was certain was not dead – and that he and the others now knew was not a wolf at all.
There were still dragons to fight, and Groller made it clear to Palin he would return within a few months. He needed some time for himself first. He gestured goodbye to the mariner, crossing his arms in front of his chest and nodded farewell toward Rig. The mariner repeated the gesture, tears welling in his dark eyes.
*
Palin and Usha returned to the Tower of Wayreth after spending several hours in conference with Goldmoon. They had loose ends to tie up, including determining the extent of the damage caused by the traitorous Shadow Sorcerer. They had plans to make and needed to decide how to continue the fight against the dragons.
*
Blister elected to stay with the healer as her newest pupil. The kender had talked Veylona into staying also, at least for a little while. Blister intended to follow in Jasper’s footsteps, and she was already wearing a Medallion of Faith around her neck, one similar to that worn by Goldmoon. Blister seemed uncharacteristically serious and quiet, as she had been since Jasper was buried. “I will make you very proud,” she whispered, as she threw a handful of dirt on the dwarf’s grave. “And I will always remember you.”
*
Ulin and Sunrise never returned to Schallsea. They left from Khur, not revealing where they were going or hinting at when they intended to return. The younger Majere had made no mention of his wife and children to Usha, only of the magic he would command in the future.
However, it was indeed home to his family that Ulin was headed with his gold companion. They could study there together. Privately he smiled to think of how his children and wife would react to Sunrise.
*
Gilthanas stood next to Silvara’s elven form. Their arms were locked around each other, their eyes joined. “So much to do,” Silvara said. “There are still overlords, though Khellendros is gone. Those who survive now understand that men will not lie down and be dominated. We will fight back.”
Gilthanas shivered, remembering the cold of Southern Ergoth, knowing he would feel that cold again, since that was where they had decided to head next. They were going to rally the people there, organizing all the Solamnic knights and directing their efforts toward pushing the White out of the former homeland of the Kagonesti.
And they were going to start a life together there: elf and dragon. Gilthanas swore he was not going to let Silvara slip away from him again.
*
Rig and Fiona held each other closely, too. Unlike Silvara, Fiona was not returning to Southern Ergoth. She had been unable to convince Rig to join the knighthood; neither had he succeeded in convincing her to abandon the order. So she had compromised, agreeing to take a temporary leave from the k
nighthood.
He brushed an errant red curl away from her face and kissed her. She was not Shaon. He didn’t want her to serve as a replacement for his first love. But he had to admit to himself that he loved Fiona as fiercely.
“Marry me,” Rig asked her, simply.
Her green eyes sparkled mischievously. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Don’t think too long,” he teased. “There are dragons to fight.”
“And we’d fight them better if we were married?”
He grinned. “I know that I would.”
“Then I accept, Rig Mer-Krel.”
He held her close, gently, as if she might break apart and ruin this moment of happiness.
*
Dhamon stood on the shore of Schallsea Island, watching Groller’s ferry depart, waving farewell. Feril stepped quietly behind him.
“I love you,” she said. He turned to face her, and she slipped into his arms, buried her face in his neck.
He closed his eyes and held her for several minutes, inhaling her sweet scent.
“But I can’t stay here,” she added, pulling back just a little. “I’m going home. I’ll travel with Silvara and Gilthanas.”
“I could go with you,” he said. “Goldmoon has forgiven me, and I...”
She shook her head. “I need some time alone. I need to find myself again.”
He swallowed hard, looked into her eyes and felt his chest grow tight. “Feril, I...”
She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything, Dhamon. Please. It would be so easy for you to convince me to stay with you. And that’s not what I need right now.”
He nodded. “I will miss you, Ferilleeagh.”
“I will be with you again,” she promised. “When I’m ready. There are still dragons to fight, and I don’t intend to let you carry on alone. Look after Rig and Fiona. Palin has promised to keep an eye on the three of you, to send me to wherever you are when a crisis calls...”
“... whenever you’re ready,” he finished.
They stood together and looked out over the glimmering water of the New Sea.
*
Thousands of miles to the north and east stretched the glimmering waters of a different sea, the Blood Sea of Istar that lapped at the shores of Malystryx’s realm.
A ripple formed on the water’s glasslike surface, then another and another. Bubbles appeared, small and few at first. Then they increased in number and size, as if the sea were a boiling pot.
A dragon’s head cleared the surface, red and angry, eyes gleaming darkly. Then a claw appeared, one holding a lance.
The weapon was red with blood. She had plucked it from her chest.
“This is war,” Malystryx hissed. Her claw sizzled, and steam spiraled up from where the lance burned her. “And this is just the beginning.”
