by Byron Preiss
With a grumbling sound, the dragon responded, “The coldrakes laid their eggs on your shore because their land had grown too cold for them to hatch. It is unlikely that any still remain alive.”
“Is it not worth looking?” asked Ceria. “Your numbers are so few already—though not as few as we thought!”
The dragon regarded her with an exasperated look. “It is difficult for me to fly now,” he said, “but you are correct. I must make sure that the coldrakes were not in error.” The Last Dragon spread his wounded wings and slowly lifted his body out of the water. “I shall return,” he bellowed. He flew south, heading toward the Simbalese shore. The crew watched as the dragon vanished into the night.
“If only these things had been known long ago,” Hawkwind said to Ceria, “there would never have been a war.”
“Yes.” Ceria nodded. “If we had all known the truth, the Wealdsman’s child would be alive today! There is ample room for nesting ground for the coldrakes.”
“Aye,” said Tamark, behind them. “ ’Twas no reason for any of these things to happen. We must learn from this; we must talk to each other to make sure that such madness does not happen again.”
I hope we will, thought Amsel. I hope we will talk the next time, instead of fight. There was so much to be learned from the world that to ravage it was indeed madness. We must learn the lesson of the war, he thought. In that way the memory of Johan would be respected.
He blinked in surprise as he realized that he was using the word “we” instead of “they.” Others had always been “they” before—Amsel had never thought of himself as a part of them. For the first time that he could remember, he was thinking of himself as belonging—as being a part of something. He had considered himself to be a Fandoran, and he cared about its people, but he had felt apart from them. He had felt alone. Now he felt as if he were a member of not only that land, but of Simbala too—and more! He was a part of humanity. It was something that would take time to fully understand. He wanted to understand. Yet for the moment it was enough just to feel—to have a sense of belonging within him. He smiled. He was very tired. He wanted to go back to his treehouse to rest, but he knew that he could not. It had been burned. He would have to find a new place to live, perhaps, he thought, a place not so far from other people.
Amsel looked at the Fandorans and Simbalese talking together around him. He felt hopeful.
The people of both lands joined in a prayer for peace.
* * *
It was after dawn when the Last Dragon returned. He landed in the water beside the flagship again. In his mouth he gently bore a single rainbow-colored egg, as large as a barrel. He set it down on the foredeck and those present clustered around it.
“There is a crack within it,” said the dragon, “but it may still be alive.” The people on deck stepped back as the Last Dragon arched his head over the egg. He breathed out a warm yellow flame. It brushed the egg, playing lightly over it, then vanished. They waited in silence.
The egg shuddered. There was a crack and the jagged line across its surface grew in size. Then the two halves fell apart, and there sat a small coldrake, no larger than a pony. It blinked in the light, looking about owlishly. Its wings, wet and shiny gray, unfolded, and it flapped them clumsily to dry them. It looked up at the dragon and made a sound that was halfway between a croak and a chirp.
The people watching began to laugh. It was a hesitant laugh at first, almost a guilty laugh, as though those who participated did not feel right in laughing so soon after so much tragedy. Yet, as the hatched coldrake tried to figure out what use its legs were for, the laughter grew. It sounded healthy, Amsel thought. Healthy and healing. He laughed with them.
The coldrake looked up with a surprisingly human expression of reproach. It flapped its wings again, with growing surety and speed, but it was not yet ready to fly.
“It must be taken to its mother,” said the dragon. “I must depart.”
Ceria glanced down anxiously and removed the Dragonpearl from the pouch at her side. “Wait!” she said, holding out one legend to another. “According to what we have learned, this belongs to the dragons. I wish to return it to you.”
The dragon roared at the sight of the long-lost Dragonpearl. As he observed it, the sphere glowed a bright shade of white.
A hush came over the foredeck. Even the baby coldrake lifted its head to see the jewel. The luminescent white faded slowly to a paler color, soft as a cloud. Then a huge, dragonlike creature, appeared within it. It was graceful, and had wide, lovely wings, but it was different, and somehow larger in scale than the dragon who watched it.
“What is it?” asked Amsel.
The dragon watched quietly in fascination.
“I do not know,” he bellowed at last, but there was hope in his voice.
Hawkwind smiled. “It appears as though the age of the dragons may not be over at all!”
“The Dragonpearl contains the memories of eight ages of dragons,” said Ceria as the dragon intently watched the clouds within the orb. “There is no telling how old this scene may be.”
The dragon heard these words, as accustomed to the humans’ speech as he had become, and bellowed, “No! I had learned all contained within the stones before they were taken by man. This was not within them!”
Amsel observed the scene within the Dragonpearl. Although he could see very little beyond the clouded sky, the creature within it seemed healthy in flight. “If he lives,” Amsel said excitedly, “then perhaps there are more!”
The dragon watched, then looked at Amsel, and it seemed as if a smile had blossomed across his age-old face. “I must find it,” he said, “for the coldrakes can no longer live in the north. I would value your company on my quest, Amsel of Fandora. You have a quick mind and a loyal heart.”
Amsel was surprised that the Last Dragon had called him by name, but the words it had spoken surprised him even more.
Join the dragon in a quest for the home of the creature within the jewel? The question did not seem real, but he thought he understood what had prompted the dragon to make the offer. The Last Dragon was lonely and tired, he did not want to go on such a quest alone.
Amsel looked at the others, and saw Ceria was smiling. These were his friends, he thought; the word sounded strange to him. It would be hard to leave, but how could he refuse such a journey? He was being offered a chance to explore a world!
The Last Dragon was also his friend. He knew the dragon’s loneliness; he knew of his sorrow and the coldrakes’ plight. He would not refuse him.
“I must return to Fandora first,” said Amsel. “I must have food and rest.”
“As you wish,” said the dragon. “My duty shall be to return this child to the coldrakes’ warren. They must be told of our plans. You shall keep the stone until I return.”
Ceria placed the Dragonpearl back in the pouch as the scene within it faded. She then handed it to Amsel.
“You will always have a place in Simbala,” said Hawkwind, “if you ever wish to return.”
Amsel smiled. “I should one day like to see your forest as something other than a prisoner!”
There was laughter from the Simbalese on the foredeck and Tamark shouted, “It would be nice to see it in a time of peace!”
Then, as those on the foredeck watched, the dragon retrieved the baby coldrake and embarked on his flight to the north.
Amsel gazed out quietly at the cool, blue water and thought of the adventure to come and the adventure past. He had set out to find the reason behind Johan’s murder and to stop a war, never having dreamt that he would meet a dragon, a princess, or a dark winged creature in a distant land. Yet he had met them all and more. He smiled, hoping, wishing, dreaming for bright days to come. For who was to say where dreams end and life begins?
About the Authors
* * *
BYRON PREISS
Byron Preiss, a native of Brooklyn, New York, is considered to be an important figure in the renaissance
of illustrated fiction in America. He has edited or produced works containing Nebula and Hugo Award-nominated fiction including Isaac Asimov’s Robot Dreams—illustrated by Ralph McQuarrie—and the combination of science fact and fiction, The Universe. He edited two monographs on fantasy illustration: The Art of Leo and Diane Dillon—about the work of Caldecott winners, which was nominated for a Hugo Award—and The Art of Moebius, about the French fantasy illustrator. He also edited the best-selling The Dinosaurs, illustrated by William Stout and written by William Service, which was influential in redefining the understanding of the Mesozoic Era. Preiss resides in New York with his wife Sandi Mendelson—a noted public relations specialist—and two daughters, Karah and Blaire.
MICHAEL REAVES
Michael Reaves is an Emmy award winning television writer, screenwriter, and novelist. His previous books include Night Hunter, Street Magic and The Shattered World. He resides in Los Angeles.
JOSEPH ZUCKER
Joseph Zucker is a native of Blauvelt, New York, and a graduate of Parsons School of Design in Manhattan. His award-winning illustrations have graced both hard and softcover book covers, greeting cards, and magazines such as Science Digest. Zucker created many of the major characters and set illustrations of the Ralph Bakshi film adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.
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