by Jean Rabe
Brynseldimer had abandoned his northern home in self-preservation. The sea dragon wanted to avoid fights with larger dragons who had moved in and begun to battle in the area. He feared those who were his size and larger. He was not especially crafty or clever, and he did not want to fall victim to well-planned attacks.
The blue-skinned Dimernesti elves were more of an annoyance than a threat, and he did not think they tasted especially good. But from time to time armed bands of them would swim out of their coral-towered homes and challenge him. He swallowed them because he did not know what else to do with them.
Those few who tried to swim toward the land of the Silvanesti, to seek help from their air-breathing kin in the forests, were crushed beneath the dragon’s claws. Eventually the Dimernesti elves learned to keep to themselves and to stay in their homes, which had become their prison cells. The dragon, whom they dubbed Brine, usually left them alone if they did not wander.
Isolated, they didn’t know that elsewhere on Krynn dragons were establishing realms and tormenting people – that as the months and years passed the dragons claimed more and more of Krynn and changed the land to suit their temperaments.
The sea elves didn’t know that despite their seemingly-quarantined state, humans and elves in many other places were faring much worse. They didn’t know that Brynseldimer kept busy capsizing ships that got too close to his domain, concentrating on keeping the elves in their underwater communities, preventing visitors from reaching them. He swallowed other intelligent sea life, especially otters because the Dimernesti elves could shapechange into them.
And they didn’t know that his actions centered on squelching news of his presence. Though Brynseldimer was not the brightest of Krynn’s massive dragons, he knew that if he didn’t want his large, scaly brethren to hunt him, he would have to keep them from finding him. He would have to keep his presence a secret.
*
Almost twenty years after Malys shared her secret plan with the green male, another larger green dragon digested the powerful information (as well as the unfortunate green male) and set about claiming her own domain. Her name was Beryllinthranox and by the time she had slain more than two dozen draconians with her devastating poisonous breath, she was also known as The Green Peril.
The windswept plain of Kharolis, the land surrounded by Ice Mountain Bay and the Sirrion Sea, was hers. She directed her efforts to ferreting out draconians in hiding and hatchling blue and copper dragons who relished the dry land of Kharolis’s sloughs. She spent her captured energy transforming the land, creating an environment for trees and streams, where before only sporadic patches of scrub weeds grew.
She eventually edged her way north, to the grasslands south of the Qualinesti forest, where she added three young brass dragons to her list of victories and feasted on a patrol of elves.
Beryl grew larger, more powerful, more belligerent, and within the span of three years, she claimed the home of the Qualinesti elves and became dragon overlord of Qualinesti and its surroundings.
*
Malys’s realm included Kendermore, Balifor, Khur, and the Dairly Plains. The latter was no longer flat. She had expended her energies on crafting a rugged mountain range that stretched from the far south to the north and curved toward the Kender homeland. The rich forests were thinned, both from her extensive hunting and from the toll her sculpting of the land took on the earth.
Her lair, the Peak of Malys, was now just south of a place called Flotsam. It was a massive, high plateau ringed on all sides by spiky rocks. She met with other dragon overlords there, and they shared news of conquests. Malys was always interested in learning about the humans the other dragons encountered. She wanted to know all about them, their drives and passions, their weaknesses and faults.
“It is the Age of Dragons, not the Age of Mortals,” the great Red hissed to Khellendros. The Blue was visiting her, answering a summons out of curiosity, not respect. “Powerful magic is beyond them.”
“But not beyond us,” Khellendros interjected. “We are magical creatures, and magic will not fade from us. We grow stronger.”
The Blue looked intently at her, as if he were studying her. For an instant Malys wondered if Khellendros suspected that she had initiated the fights between the dragons. Did he know dragons didn’t need to kill each other or the draconians to hold onto their magical essence and ensure their place in Krynn? She thought him clever, but it was hard to believe he was smart enough to figure her out. Impossible, really.
“Now is the time to strike,” she softly growled. “While men are at their weakest. They can’t stand up to us. They can’t defeat us as they defeated other dragons in decades past. We must subjugate them.”
Khellendros continued to stare at her for several long moments. Finally he nodded his great head. “Now is the time to strike,” he agreed.
Chapter 8
A MEETING OF MINDS
“What are you thinking about?” The voice was soft and feminine, coming from behind Palin as he stood at the window and gazed out over Wayreth Forest.
“I was wondering what you were doing this fine afternoon, Usha.”
“You’re a terrible liar, husband.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, as he slowly turned to face her.
The three decades that had passed since the Chaos War had been especially kind to Usha Majere. Her long hair was white and shiny, the same color as the day he met her. Her figure was shapely and turned the heads of men half her age. And the few lines on her face were at the edges of her golden eyes and were noticeable mainly when she smiled.
But Usha had not smiled often as of late. She knew Palin was troubled. He was getting less and less sleep these days. The dreams had returned, and he often awoke sweating and unwilling to talk about them.
Age and worry had painted silver streaks in Palin Majere’s auburn, shoulder-length hair. The years had put a few creases in his brow and thin lines on his handsome face, and they’d slowed his gait a little. The years hadn’t stooped his shoulders or dulled his wits, however, nor had they lessened his determination.
Palin was in his mid-fifties now. He still wore long ivory robes, as he had since he was chosen to be the head of the Order of the White Robes. And he still often thought about his Uncle Raistlin, the most formidable Wizard of the Black Robes ever to walk upon Krynn.
With magic apparently gone, Palin was feeling frustrated and useless. He had served as the head of the Conclave of Wizards for the past four years, but nothing had changed. Wizards could not cast even simple spells and could only use some magical items. The elves of Qualinesti were in dire need of some means to battle against the powerful dragon overlord Beryl and the wizards had come up with nothing.
“What are you really thinking about?” Usha persisted.
Palin reached up and twirled a finger in her soft hair, moving it around and around until it formed a curl. He released the strand and cupped her face. She smelled of lilacs this morning, and he inhaled her fragrance deeply.
“I was thinking about the dragons,” he said finally.
“You’re always thinking about the dragons.”
“It’s hard to think about much else these days. I have to do something about them before the situation gets any worse. But I just don’t know what I can do. Things we’ve tried, the other sorcerers and myself, have done nothing and have gone unnoticed.”
Usha stepped back, balled her fists, and placed them against her hips. “The dragons frighten me, too, Palin Rinta-laisin Majere. But the entire fate of Krynn is not on your shoulders. You hardly sleep anymore. Up so late, studying, thinking. Up so early too. I’m concerned about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not if you keep this up.”
“I’ve a lot to do. I’ve made a discovery that —”
“Whatever it is you’ve been working on can wait for one day,” Usha insisted. “Just one day. We promised to have dinner with our children. What about the grandchildren? We promised. Tomorrow
you can...”
Palin made a face. “I want to see them. I really do,” he began. There was a hint of exasperation in his voice. “But it will have to be a very quick dinner. And a late one, I’m afraid. I’ve things to tend to here that can’t be put off.”
“Palin!” his wife chided.
“Palin,” a deeper voice called. “We’re ready.”
Usha drew her lips into a thin, tight line and stared into her husband’s eyes. “I just wish I didn’t have to share you with the dragons and this tower,” she softly huffed. “And I wish I didn’t have to share you with those... men.” She gestured behind her, to a silvery-robed man whose face was hidden by his hood.
Palin gently drew her into his arms. “I’m the one who called this meeting. They came because I asked them to.” His lips brushed her forehead and lingered there for a moment. “I have to go now.”
*
They met in the topmost room in the Tower of Wayreth. Palin sat at the head of a long ebonwood table. The afternoon sun gleamed warmly on its polished surface.
To his right sat the silvery-robed sorcerer, who looked about thirty, only a few years older than Palin’s son, Ulin. But Palin suspected the man was much older than himself. The sorcerer’s smooth, black-gloved hands edged out of his voluminous sleeves and his fingers traced the whorls in the table-top. He brushed the cowl away from his unblemished, ebony-skinned face.
“I had hoped more sorcerers would have answered your summons, Majere,” he stated. “Or in their answers had not declined. This conclave you’ve called could well be the last on Ansalon.” The man was known as the Master of the Tower. He was caretaker of the Tower of Wayreth and a bit of a mystery. No one remembered having seen him before the Chaos War.
“Some said they were too preoccupied to attend. Others claimed they simply did not have the means to get here,” said the speaker who sat to Palin’s left, the one called the Shadow Sorcerer. It was impossible to discern if the voice was male or female because it was muted as it came from behind a metallic face mask that only sported eye slits. The speaker was a slight figure dressed entirely in black. The hood of the sorcerer’s cloak seemed to swallow the expressionless metal face inside it. “But I believe the other sorcerers did not come because they’ve lost faith in what little magic is left. It seems no one studies magic anymore. Apprentices are rare. And the dragons have killed the spellcasters who dared to stand up to them.”
“I think we’re all frightened of the dragons,” Palin said.
“We should be,” the Master said.
“Then this meeting is pointless.” The Shadow Sorcerer pushed away from the table, the chair legs screeching against the stone floor. “I doubt that the dragons can be stopped. We certainly don’t have the means to do so.”
“But there are so few of the dragons left, at least compared to their numbers before the Chaos War – and before they started fighting each other,” the Master offered.
“I’ll grant that their so-called Dragon Purge seems to be at an end,” the Shadow Sorcerer replied. The sorcerer’s shoulders were hunched, hinting at age or despair. “But the ones we are left to deal with are more cunning. Deadlier. Perhaps undefeatable.”
Palin sighed and silently looked to his companions.
“You’ve been having visions again,” the Master prompted.
“The dragon I saw in my dreams was a tremendous blue. The same one as before. It had to be Khellendros,” Palin stated. “If someone hadn’t destroyed the Tower of High Sorcery, the dragon would’ve claimed it, taken the magic inside and done who knows what with it. Maybe Palanthas wouldn’t be here today.”
“The dragon would have turned the magic against someone, no doubt,” the Master agreed.
“Have you had any dreams about the Red to the east – Malystryx? About any other dragon?” the Shadow Sorcerer asked softly.
Palin shook his head. “Just the Blue.” He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “He is near Palanthas, but he hasn’t threatened the city. Not since thirty years ago, the day the tower was destroyed. But until I can understand the visions, determine what he is up to, let us attend to other urgencies.”
“Your discovery, Majere?” the Master asked.
“Yes. I believe it might have an impact on whatever we try against the dragons.” Palin stood and steepled his fingers on the table. “I think I’ve learned how to cast spells.”
“How is it possible?” the Shadow Sorcerer’s voice was laced with intrigue.
“I kept thinking it was up to me to figure out how to bring magic back to Krynn. I refused to accept that it was simply gone. And then it occurred to me that maybe I could do it, me personally, and that maybe magic hadn’t left our world.”
“We’ve all wished the same. We’ve all tried,” said the Master.
“Yes, but we’ve only tried to use magic in the same way we always have. This is not the same Krynn that it was some thirty years ago. We’ve always used the magic of High Sorcery given to us by the gods millennia ago, but they are gone now. We don’t have their help now, so, of course, we can’t access Krynn’s magic the way we used to.”
“Krynn’s magic,” said the Shadow Sorcerer, nodding his head.
“Yes! It’s still here in our world, an innate, primordial magic that still permeates Krynn – Krynn’s magic.”
“But how do you use it without written or memorized spells?” asked the Master, leaning forward in his chair.
“Find your own way!” shouted Palin enthusiastically.
The two seemed to take offense at this and they leaned back in their chairs.
“I mean reach out for Krynn’s magic in your way, weave your own unique spells,” Palin said quietly.
“If one can feel the magic, he can shape it to his will,” remarked the Shadow Sorcerer in an off-handed way that surprised Palin.
The three stared at each other, and for several long minutes the only sound heard was the wind whistling through the spiral staircase beyond the chamber.
“This new sorcery of yours could never be as powerful as the old wizardry,” said the Master with a tone of regret.
Palin reluctantly agreed. “It’s true that it is less powerful, at least, for now.”
The room fell silent again.
“Perhaps one could draw out the energy from a magical item to enhance his spell,” said the Sorcerer.
Palin smiled, nodding his head in affirmation as the idea grew more and more plausible to him. His smile faded when he saw the worried look on the Master’s dark face.
“If it is possible to boost a spell by exhausting a magical item, no one must know.”
Palin glared at him. “To keep such a thing a secret!”
“Indeed!” the Master said. “To keep it a secret is the best course. What would you have us do, Majere, declare open season on Ansalon’s most precious artifacts? We only just now came up with the idea. Who’s to say if it will even work? What do you think, Sorcerer?”
“I think it is best if I consider this matter for a while,” said the Shadow Sorcerer quietly.
Palin sat heavily in his chair. “Let’s concentrate on what we can do.”
“Quite right,” said the Shadow Sorcerer. “This new sorcery ought to come as quite a surprise to the dragons. I vote we launch an attack on Beryl.”
“Your enthusiasm is commendable, colleague, but don’t you think we need to learn how to cast spells first?” asked the Master.
“It’s just that the elves are in such dire need. That’s one of the reasons we came here,” said the Shadow Sorcerer.
The discussion went late into the evening, past the hour when Palin was supposed to go to dinner with his children. Usha went ahead without him, whispering that she understood and that Linsha and Ulin would, too.
*
Palin was unable to sleep that night. His restlessness came more from excitement than worry. The Master of the Tower had declared that their meeting constituted the Last Conclave and had instructed
Palin to dissolve the old Orders of Magic and open a school to teach the new sorcery. And, though they didn’t have enough magic to destroy Beryl, they were going to try to drive her off. The future of elvenkind depended on them at least giving the Green a setback.
Palin was finally equipped with the means to do something. He was glad, but he also felt somewhat alone, burdened with a great deal of responsibility. Where were all the good dragons? Where were the brasses and the bronzes, the golds, silvers, and coppers? Where were the ones who always helped men in the past?
His thoughts drifted back a few decades, to the Chaos War. He had witnessed blues flying next to golds, some with riders, some alone, all united under the same banner. There were no evil dragons then, as far as Palin was concerned. There were simply dragon champions who fought to save Krynn. More humans died than dragons that day. Knights of Solamnia and Knights of Takhisis both – their loyalties were cast aside during the fight. And when the battle was over, the knights, once enemies, were buried side by side in a tomb in Solace that honored fallen heroes.
Krynn needs new champions, Palin thought. If this is indeed the Age of Mortals, then mortals must reclaim the land. Perhaps Goldmoon will help us find them.
Chapter 9
TEARS OF AN ARMY
“They remind me of cattle.” Malys’s voice was tinged with scorn.
“Humans?” Khellendros posed.
The majestic Red nodded her head. “And the elves, dwarves, gnomes. All of them. Even the kender. Especially the cheerful, pitiful kender. The contemptible kender with their puny weapons, impudent grins, and their endless, annoying banter. I took this land from them, and they could do nothing to stop me.”
Malys was stretched out on her belly in her plateau lair south of Flotsam, letting the late afternoon sun bake her scales. She closed her eyes and softly, contentedly growled.
She loved the heat. Khellendros sat in front of her.
“Some aspire to greatness,” he began. “Some humans, anyway.”
“You are soft to think so,” she hissed.
“I am wise to know so,” Khellendros rebuked. “Humans and their allies have been responsible for chasing dragons from the face of Krynn before. They should not be taken lightly.”
