by Jean Rabe
At last Dhamon reached the top and stood in the blue dragon’s shadow. “You didn’t have to kill her,” he said. “She’d done nothing to you.”
“Nothing but befriend Palin Majere,” the dragon returned. “And killing her hurt him.”
“He barely knew her,” Dhamon said crossly.
“Then I erred in my target. Help me pick another, one that will have more meaning to the sorcerer.”
“There’ll be no other targets,” he told the dragon.
“I no longer take my orders from you.”
Dhamon stared up into the large eyes of his once-friend, then he reached for his sword and stepped closer.
Gale’s eyes grew wide. “You mean to fight me?”
“I mean to kill you,” Dhamon said as he rushed forward. The blue dragon tensed his leg muscles, pushed off, and flapped his wings to take him skyward. In that instant, Dhamon sprang up and swung his sword. The blade sunk deep into Gale’s rear leg.
Dhamon held tight to the pommel as he felt himself being lifted. His legs dangled in the air as he struggled to pull himself up.
“We were allies once,” the dragon hissed. He slowly turned his head over his great scaly shoulder and opened his maw. “We were more than friends, we were brothers. Don’t force me to kill you.”
Dhamon held tight to Gale’s leg, finding handholds on the blue scales. He tugged free his sword, sheathed it, and climbed higher, over the dragon’s haunch and to his back. Dhamon knew Gale could have easily tossed him from his precarious perch. The dragon was being magnanimous, but not overly so. He saw Gale glance backward at him, felt the dragon inhale, and he held tight to the spiked ridge as a bolt of lighting shot out between the dragon’s fangs. Electricity raced harmlessly along Gale’s scales, but not so harmlessly into Dhamon. The painful sensation jarred him. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and tried to block out the pain.
It was a warning, Dhamon knew.
“We were allies,” the dragon repeated.
“Allies in the past!” Dhamon yelled over the storm. “That life is dead to me!”
The dragon closed his eyes and sadly shook his head. “Then, you are dead, too.” Gale beat his wings fiercely now, trying to throw Dhamon from his back. But Dhamon held on as his left hand closed around a dragon scale. The sharp edge sliced into his hand, and he felt the blood rush down his palm, but still he maintained his grip.
“Why didn’t you stay in the city? I would have let you live – for old times, for past pleasures,” the dragon cried.
“You killed a friend of mine!” Dhamon cursed. “You destroyed a new life I have been building!”
“I was following orders,” Gale boomed. The dragon again released his lightning breath along his back. This time it was not a warning.
Dhamon cringed as the pain from the bolt sent numbing heat through him. He felt his muscles relaxing, his legs and fingers releasing their hold on the dragon.
“No!” he cried as he scampered for another purchase. His hands flailed about, meeting only slick scales. He was sliding off. At last his elbow locked around a spiked scale on the ridge of the dragon’s back.
He climbed up, hand over hand. Gale rolled in the air, turning on his back and nearly toppling him. But the former knight was dogged. He ignored the pain and continued his climb. The dragon righted himself, soaring higher. Dhamon was nearly up to Gale’s neck by now. Locking his legs around a spiked scale and holding onto another with his left hand, he drew his sword and raised it. He plunged it down into the base of the dragon’s thick neck. The blade sank in deep, and Dhamon grabbed the pommel with both hands to hold on.
Gale roared and the sky reverberated. The rain lashed sideways – tossed by the fierce wind, spurred on by the drum of thunder. The dragon dipped over a rise, dropped and pulled his wings close to his sides. Dhamon held on desperately as his legs flew free behind him.
*
Feril reached the top of a hill. It was all she could do to stand there against the roaring wind and rain. She screamed when she realized it was blood that splattered her tunic. In horror, she watched the injured dragon pass overhead and dive toward a lake nestled among a ring of hills. Then all of a sudden the dragon pulled up, and his claws grazed the water. He climbed higher and higher.
She saw the tiny form of a man hanging on, and heard the thunder fill the air.
*
“I had no closer friend once,” Dhamon said.
“But you deserted me!” the dragon hissed, his words all but drowned out in the roaring wind.
“I abandoned that life of evil.”
“And when you left the Knights of Takhisis, I resigned too! I couldn’t go on with another partner!” the dragon cried. “Now I serve a better master. I serve the Storm Over Krynn!”
The dragon rolled onto his back. Dhamon gripped the pommel of his sword and flailed about, trying to find something his legs could hold onto. At last the dragon righted himself, and Dhamon’s legs closed about a scaly spike at the base of Gale’s neck. He tugged the sword free.
“Your master?” Dhamon asked with contempt.
“The Portal Master. The Storm Over Krynn. Khellendros!” Gale cried. The dragon sent a lightning bolt skyward, and a myriad of strokes issued earthward in response. The ground rocked far below.
“Khellendros is the greatest blue dragon Krynn has seen! There is none larger! None more powerful!” Gale roared. “Together, my master and I could shatter Palanthas!”
Dhamon gritted his teeth and drove the sword in again. The blade sank in halfway to the pommel, and the dragon let out a scream.
Far below, Palin and Rig stood with Feril, squinting through the driving rain. The mariner hefted the lance and looked up, hoping for an opportunity.
“The dragon is seriously hurt,” Palin said. “I have spells that could reach him, though I don’t know if they’d be enough to finish him. And if they were, he would land on the rocks. Dhamon wouldn’t stand a chance of surviving the fall.”
High above them, Dhamon drove the sword in again. “You’ll serve no master of evil!” he shouted. “You’ll kill no one else again!”
Gale thrashed about and flapped his wings furiously, trying to dislodge Dhamon. He brought his tail up and lashed it wildly.
The tail struck the rider, and Dhamon howled in agony. Still, he would not let go. He managed to yank the sword free one more time, blood showering his face. Shaking his head and blinking to clear his eyes, he swung wide, and he felt the blade carve through Gale’s huge leathery wing.
The dragon screeched again and breathed his lightning, but the bolt shot away harmlessly, striking a hill far below. Again Dhamon’s blade flashed, cutting through more of the wing, slicing away at Gale’s weakness.
Then Dhamon felt himself falling. The dragon was plummeting, uncontrollably spiraling down. Dhamon saw a lake rushing up from below. He closed his eyes and for a moment thought about Gale, about the time they’d spent together, about the men they’d slain. He felt the sword slide from his fingers, then he felt consciousness slip from his grasp.
“No!” Feril screamed, as she watched the dragon plunge into the lake. The water rose up in a great tower. She scrambled down the hill, her feet flying over the slick rocks and mud. Rig and Palin followed, tumbling and sliding.
The rain was softer by the time they reached the shore. The wind was dying down. The clouds were thinning, letting the blue of the sky peek through and reflect itself in the lake’s roiling surface. The water was just starting to calm itself.
Feril stood at the shore, water gently lapping around her feet. She took a few steps out, until the water was just below her knees, then she extended her senses into the water, trying to find Dhamon, the dragon, any hint of life.
Palin moved up behind her, knelt, and touched his fingers to the water’s edge. He murmured words to a simple enchantment, and ripples raced away from him. “Dhamon,” Palin whispered. “Find Dhamon.” But the spell found no living trace of the former knight. The rip
ples dissipated.
Rig placed a hand on Feril’s shoulder, every bit as concerned as Palin and the Kagonesti.
A bubble formed in the center of the lake, then another and another, until Feril’s heart began to beat with faint hope. But then the bubbles stopped, as did the rain. The wind ceased. And hope died.
Palin stood and tugged her toward the shore. She buried her face in his shoulder. The sorcerer wrapped his arms comfortingly around her.
“He killed the dragon,” Palin said simply.
“That dragon had to be the Blue from the Northern Wastes,” Rig said quickly. “The one that created the spawn, controlled the ogres. Left alive, it could have destroyed Palanthas – and more. Dhamon won.”
“At the cost of his life,” Feril sobbed.
And Shaon’s life, the mariner silently added. Rig shouldered the lance. He guessed the weapon was his now to use against another dragon, perhaps the White in Southern Ergoth. He felt numb, and useless, however. And he couldn’t bring himself to leave the spot.
“Victory rarely comes without a considerable cost,” the mariner said, finally breaking the silence. He reached out and touched Feril. “I’m going to honor Shaon and Dhamon by continuing the struggle – whatever the cost.”
Feril nodded and looked up into Palm’s eyes.
“We’ve a mast to mend,” the sorcerer said, as he glanced toward Palanthas. “We’ve fallen friends to honor. And we’ve many more battles ahead of us.”
Feril edged away from him. Tears continued to spill from her cheeks, and her slight frame trembled.
Palin Majere took a last look at the lake, then turned toward the city. Rig and Feril fell in place behind him.
