The Dragons lh-6

by Douglas Niles

  Instinct took over, and those leathery membranes, as shimmering bright as quicksilver, scooped into the air. Dar’s nose came up, and he felt the pressure of wind as his stroking wings found their natural pace. Soon he was climbing, banking, turning, feeling the air soar past with a rush of speed. He wheeled through a graceful arc, back toward the grotto’s ledge, and for the first time in his life, he regarded that sheltered cavern from a distant perspective.

  The nook was burrowed into the side of a massive stone pillar, a formation that was very wide above, then tapered to a narrow shaft below, so that the column dangled like a gigantic fang from the ceiling. Only the black tunnel was visible, but he knew that within lay the sacred grotto.

  Below was a giant lake, extending into the far distance of the Darkness Beyond. That darkness was much less threatening when one was a part of it, Darlantan reflected, rearing back as he approached the ledge. Flaring his wings, he landed in a skidding slide that knocked Oro and Aysa tumbling and hissing to the sides. Darlantan spun about and pranced to the edge of the cliff with the confident air of one who has just demonstrated his innate superiority.

  He was giddy with a consuming sense of exhilaration. Only the cautionary raising of Patersmith’s hand held him from lunging forth and once again taking flight. But the tutor was eminently fair, and his guidance was not to be questioned. Darlantan knew it was someone else’s turn.

  Gradually the silver dragon realized that his twelve nestmates regarded him with expressions ranging from awe to astonishment. Aurican’s inner eyelids lowered as his golden head swung appraisingly from the gulf of darkness to the taut, stiff-winged form of his silver Kin-dragon.

  “Splendid start,” Patersmith declared, puffing on his pipe and beaming at Darlantan, whose wings fanned excitedly. “Now, who’s to be next?”

  Kenta and Turq were ready and bobbed their silver heads, but it was Aurican who stepped to the rim of the cliff and sprang into space with a prodigious leap. He swept smoothly into a dive, spiraling and circling downward until he was lost in the shadows. After many heartbeats, he reappeared, slowly working his way back upward.

  By then Kenta had flown, like Darlantan in a momentary tumble of silvery scales before she found her natural rhythm. Turq followed her sister with similar success, and then one after another the young dragons threw themselves into space. With varying levels of struggle they took wing, gliding over the water and then swooping upward with steadily growing confidence.

  Copper Blayze, nimble as ever, swept outward with confidence. His wings stroked with keen and instinctive skill as he pressed them downward, banked easily, then climbed steadily toward the ceiling of the lofty cavern.

  Smelt, in a flash of brass scales, swept past Blayze and tugged at his wing, sending the hot-tempered copper spinning toward the lake in a spitting, twisting bundle of fangs and claws. It wasn’t until very much later that Smelt even dared return to the ledge, and even then the fuming Blayze hurled himself at his nestmate, almost sending both of them tumbling toward the dark waters of the lake.

  Aysa was the last to fly. Not surprisingly, she tumbled straight down from the perch. The bronze female fell so rapidly that Darlantan dived after her, certain she would smash into the waters far below. Though the silver male strained to catch up, in the end, Aysa learned on her own, spreading her wings and leveling off just a short distance above the still, inky-dark expanse of the giant pool.

  Soon the wyrms had gathered back at the ledge, where Patersmith regarded them with expressions of contentment. He puffed and smoked, smiling gently, though to Darlantan, the old teacher’s eyes seemed to moisten with melancholy.

  “Come with us!” urged the silver dragon. “We’ll fly throughout the Darkness Beyond!”

  “Alas.” Patersmith held up his arms. “These are very poor wings. No, without magic, it is impossible for me to fly with you. But it is time that all of you soared into the world and witnessed the wonders of which you have only heard.”

  “But how do we find the world through the darkness?” asked Kenta.

  “There is a cave, similar to the door cave of your own grotto.” The tutor pointed into the distant darkness. “Find it and fly, my wyrmlings, and you will find yourself in the world of light and sky.”

  “We go!” cried Darlantan, his wings buzzing audibly as he tensed for a leap into space. Excitement brought him to a fever pitch. It was fantastic to fly, but even more wonderful to think he would at last get a look at the sun and the sky and the whole world.

  “Yes, go! You will fly to the Valley of Paladine. Beyond the darkness, you shall see this sacred place, sheltered in the High Kharolis. There you may hunt and sleep and fly, safe from the intrusions of the world.”

  Darlantan led the way, though Aurican and the other two silvers flew just behind his tail. The others strung out through the darkness as the dragon followed his memory of Patersmith’s pointing finger. A light breeze moved the air of this vast place-a place that was really something far more concrete than the vague entity he had known as the Darkness Beyond. Already Dar could see the looming wall of this great, subterranean chamber. A sheet of dark rock rose from the edge of the still water, rising high overhead as it domed outward to form the cavern’s lofty, vaulted ceiling.

  Abruptly Aurican veered to the side, wings straining in a visible effort to gain speed. Darlantan tried to think, to remember… Was it possible he was mistaken in his memory of Patersmith’s indicated direction?

  Then he understood: It was the wind! Aurican had sensed that breeze and known that it must originate from the passageway to the outside world.

  Before the others could react, their golden sibling swept into a shadowy passage looming in the vast wall. Now it was Darlantan behind his nestmate’s tail, straining to overtake Aurican. Yet even in his frustration, he retained a measure of caution. He knew he couldn’t try to fly past Auri in this narrow passage, or more likely than not they’d both go crashing into the walls or ground.

  And then they were into a realm that was so broad, so breathtakingly open that the young dragon forgot all about his petty duel. The blue of the sky was deeper, more perfect than any color Darlantan had ever imagined. Clouds puffed, impossibly white and serene in the azure vault that swept overhead. Mountain peaks surrounded the file of gliding, awestruck dragons, and these summits were etched into such precise clarity that Dar felt as though he should be able to reach out and touch each one. He saw, however, that the valley was wide, and every one of the lofty peaks was a considerable distance away.

  The heights fully encircled this place. Even as they flew, the dragons looked upward to the horizon in all directions. Glaciers sparkled in the sunlight, draping the highest peaks in regal cloaks of ice. Cornices, like diamond-studded crowns, crested these ridges, and where the daylight sparkled along the summits, the gleaming reflection was brighter than fire.

  Best of all, brightening the scene everywhere, glowing from the heights of the sky, shone the ball of brilliant illumination… and Darlantan knew that he had at last discovered the sun.

  Chapter 4

  Abyssal Flames

  Circa 5000 PC

  The crude rabble of Crematia’s quarry huddled in a small alcove in the floor of the Abyss. These creatures, however, were not like the furry rodents that had sustained her upon her emergence from the egg. Now the mighty red dragon held sway throughout the realm of her queen, taking any of the inhabitants she desired for the pleasure of her feasting.

  Tail lashing in leisurely arrogance, Crematia eyed the wretched creatures with cruel detachment. This was a family of them, wide-eyed creatures who walked upright and wore the skins of animals over their own hairless hide. Now a male strutted and growled, brandishing his pathetic club while the female huddled against the wall, three or four nit-like children clinging to her skirts, her hands, and her hair.

  “Please, O mighty one!” wailed the mother. “Show us mercy!”

  Crematia’s crimson maw curled into a sneer.


  “Mercy is weakness,” she declared, then made a slow intake of breath. “And weakness is death.”

  Finally the red dragon’s jaws opened, and the expulsion of fire blossomed into an oily, searing bundle of flames around the helpless victims. The roaring of the blaze drowned the pathetic wails of the dying creatures, a fact that invariably held true, except when Crematia incinerated a very large number of victims at once. In these cases, she had been amused to discover that the dying could raise a wail loud enough to carry above the infernal din.

  But such opportunities for mass execution were very rare indeed. Crematia had become the scourge of the Dark Queen’s hellish realm, but so effective was her killing that there were only occasional targets left upon which she could vent her wrath. She had learned her lessons well, remembering the queen’s commands as if they had been seared into her mind with the fiery force of dragonbreath.

  “Find your strongest enemy and kill him,” Takhisis had ordered. “Then find your new strongest enemy-for there will be one-and kill him.”

  To that end, Crematia had slain all the other red dragons that had emerged from the nest of her birth. With cunning and cruelty, she had tracked them down, males and females alike, and killed by fang or talon or fire. Occasionally she prolonged the suffering of a victim for her own entertainment, but never did she do so out of mercy.

  The other chromatic dragons, the blacks, whites, blues and greens, had been taken elsewhere by the queen, or else Crematia would certainly have killed them as well. Now she was left with pathetic beings like these warm-blooded creatures clad in furs. They died at her whim, but were scarcely deserving of the term “enemy.”

  “Crematia… my Scarlet Daughter.”

  “Yes, my queen.” The red dragon bowed low when she heard the voice of her mistress. The obedience was ingrained-she had seen too many nestmates perish because they had been slow to respond to the Dark Queen’s abiding need for fealty and worshipful fawning.

  The great five-headed image of Takhisis reared from the chasm in the base of the Abyss. Naturally it was the crimson head that fixed its twin eyes upon Crematia, that spread the mighty jaws to speak in a low and rumbling voice.

  “It is time for your journey to commence.”

  The words were exciting, bringing twin wisps of sooty flame snorting from the crimson nostrils. For eons, Crematia had known that her mistress had some destiny, some great task, for her, and it was thrilling to hope the time had finally come for her commencement.

  “My journey of vengeance, Honored Matriarch?” Crematia’s heart flared into a blaze of anticipation. For too long had she been sharpening her cruelty and her skills against such pathetic targets as these primitives.

  “Indeed. Know that others of your nest will journey through the planes behind you, but you are the one I have chosen to lead my children in their return to Krynn. You shall pave the way, and the others I will send when you are ready.”

  “I am prepared to go now, mistress,” the red dragon pledged with a low, wide-winged bow.

  “You must be courageous, my daughter, but not foolhardy. You shall know killing, and wreak terrible destruction in my name. Seek the wyrms of Paladine; learn their habits and their lairs. But do not risk yourself. Leave the dangers to your sisters and brothers, my lesser wyrms.”

  “I obey, my queen.”

  “Then it is time for you to depart.”

  Fire surged as the queen’s crimson jaws gaped, billowing a cloud of infernal flame that swelled and crackled in the air. For several heartbeats, the flames raged, and when they faded, a smudge of oily smoke lingered like a tangible sphere floating in the air.

  The smoke gathered into a swirling vortex, a tiny funnel that twisted with a gusty roar on the red stone of the ground. With a tightly focused spiral, the whirlwind spun like a grinding drill against the rock until it dissipated with an audible pop of sound.

  In the space where it had been, a bright red ruby gleamed. Multiple facets flared and sparkled, reflecting the myriad fires rising from the horizons of the queen’s realm.

  “Eat this Talonstone and my blessing shall infuse you.”

  Crematia’s head darted forward, and the huge ruby disappeared, rippling its way down the snaky length of her scaly throat.

  “With this gem of potent enchantment shall you carry magic to Krynn. You will bear a power greater than that of any good dragon, for sorcery has been lost to them for many ages. You, the first of my children, shall be a creature mightier than any in that world, and with that power you shall commence to claim all of Krynn for me!”

  “Aye, mistress!” pledged Crematia, her belly seething and flaming at the prospects of destruction and killing.

  “Follow the passage. Make way to a world of lesser mortals and let them know your wrath and your will!” commanded the Dark Queen, her crimson head rearing like a mountain above. Five pairs of jaws spread wide, acid and lightning, gas and frost and flame all erupting skyward in a quintuple fanfare.

  “Mercy is weakness, and weakness is death!” Crematia repeated reverently.

  Her crimson wings spread wide, and the red dragon took to the air. Before her, the gate flamed into existence, a great circle of fire poised in space, burning with raging fury. Through that gap she saw a smoldering but sun-brightened sky and a landscape scarred by deep gorges and heaving, fiery mountains. Tucking her wings, narrowing into a streamlined dive, the red dragon swept through the gate, departing forever the Abyss that was her mistress’s realm.

  She emerged from a shower of flames and immediately pulled upward, straining for height. The gate had passed her into the bottom of a deep shaft of rock, but the space was so broad that she was able to swing through lazy spirals, gradually climbing up and out. Riding the upsurge of scalding gases past sheer walls of flame-scorched stone, the crimson serpent rose steadily higher.

  Finally Crematia emerged from the top of a great smoldering mountain, the greatest summit in a vast and tangled range of such peaks. She knew intuitively that this was Darklady Mountain, a massif that had risen from the tortured land in honor of her queen’s awful might. Slopes of dark debris, streaked with rusty red and trailing spumes of tar, marked the conical summit in slashes of color, like a crown encircling a lofty brow.

  Smoke and ash filled the sky, whipped by the wind, trailing like horsetails from many of the loftiest summits. Wings spread wide, Crematia soared, looking into a volcano that seethed and pulsed with the rage of internal fire, then flying above another with a caldera that lay still and snowbound below. Rivers of lava scored some of the valleys, while others were shrouded in great, apparently eternal blankets of ice, frost, and snow.

  The sun was a fire in the heavens, but the warmth of that great orb was muted by the clouds of smoke roiling through the skies. Everywhere mountains spumed and exploded, and great billowing expulsions of ash and toxic vapors layered the sky. The stench of the air was thick and acrid, and comfortingly familiar to the Abyss-bred serpent. She soared with a sense of serene exhilaration over soot-stained glaciers and peered with aloof condescension into deep, eternally shaded gorges.

  After flying for a long time, the red dragon swept between the steep shoulders of two massive mountains and found herself over a region of foothills. The ground was rough and rocky, but lacked the height and the flaming intensity of the volcanic reach she had just traversed.

  It was in a valley between a pair of rolling crests that she saw the first signs of life, walking figures that shuffled outward from a deep, well-protected cave mouth. Immediately she cloaked herself with a spell of invisibility, soaring low for a closer look, knowing she was safe from observation. Several upright figures tromped along the ground, each hulking body borne by a pair of gnarled legs. Some of the brutes clutched large limbs of wood-apparently weapons, the red dragon deduced as she watched the creatures suddenly close in on a mountain sheep, bashing the animal between them until it was slain.

  Intrigued, Crematia continued her explorations, discovering many
of these creatures inhabiting the foothills around the High Khalkists. She observed that they dwelled in clans and took shelter in high, shallow caves. They had scored a series of crude tracks, linking many of the tribes over these torturous mountain pathways. Her observations suggested that the clans were led by the biggest of the brutes, who seemed to be rough, crude folk, readily prone to violence.

  In one place, she discovered a deep valley sheltered between the sheer walls below two lofty summits. Along the floor of the gorge were no fewer than a half dozen great caves, and a large number of the two-legged brutes seemed to dwell there.

  Still invisible, the red dragon flew back and forth, finally discovering one gathering that intrigued her. Several of the largest of the bull warriors gathered here, and from these bristled headdresses of bright feathers, while ornaments of gold dangled over their broad chests. Whispering a word of magic, she canceled her spell of invisibility, appearing suddenly when she was just overhead. The dragon settled to the ground before the adorned beings, the downward blasts of her wings driving dust and debris into their faces.

  Crematia saw the gnarled legs, hulking bodies, and strapping arms of these humanoids. She studied the sloping brows, the wide, tusked mouths, and the massive hands clutching knobbed clubs or boulders. The creatures cowered back from her but did not run away, except for one female who, clutching a squalling infant, darted from the pack.

  The red dragon lowered her head, jaws gaping, and spat a blast of searing flame around the lumbering, terrified creature. The victim’s scream rose to a piercing ring as the female, now a living torch, tumbled and thrashed across the ground. In a heartbeat, her life and that of her babe were snuffed away, leaving as a remnant two intermingled, blackened shapes. Satisfied that the smoldering corpses were ample demonstration of her might, Crematia regally swung back to regard the abject creatures cowering before her.

  “How are you called?” she asked the largest of the band, who scarcely dared to raise a fearful eye from the ground when he heard her question.