by Doug Niles
Soon he saw the small cave mouth, and he settled to the cliff just above it. After insuring that a stiff wind blew up the face of the mountain, a breeze that would keep his scent from any nostrils within the cave, he sniffed—and was immediately rewarded with the stench of metal dragonkind, which hung thick in the air.
Yet the odor was dominated by the overriding, acidic stench of a copper dragon, and as the wind blew the last of the silvers’ spoor away, Deathfyre knew that this was not, in fact, the true object of his search. Instead, it was more likely the lair of a single, solitary dragon.
Deathfyre, with the help of Cynysi and Kyri, had been charged by Crematia with finding the lair of all the good dragons, and he all but growled at the thought that he still hadn’t succeeded. Still, this was closer than he had ever come before. When he had seen the two silvers, he had guessed that they had been departing from the great nesting lair of the metal dragons; now it seemed more likely that the mysterious hidden cavern had been their destination.
With an inaudible snarl of frustration, Deathfyre looked back to the west. The pair of silver serpents were long gone by now. He would never be able to catch sight of them.
But he was close; he knew it! There had to be something … and then his snarl turned to a rasp of quiet pleasure as he seized upon a plan.
When he leaned over the cliff to sample the air with his great nostrils, the scent of the copper was stronger than ever, strong enough to convince him that one of the good dragons remained within. Once again Deathfyre let the mask of invisibility fall away from himself. He took to the air, flying a roundabout course away from the copper’s lair. Finding Cynysi and Kyri, he gave them explicit directions, then left to wing strongly, and in plain sight, up the valley below the hidden cave.
“Here me, my kin-dragons!” he bellowed, his voice powerful enough to rattle rocks loose from the bluffs. Averting his head, he nevertheless eyed the lair from the corner of his eye. Soon a lanky shape moved there, crouching low but unmistakably staring outward.
“Come to me, my red sisters, my kin-dragons of black and white, my blues and greens! I have found the lair of the good dragons!” Now he allowed a hint of exultant triumph to enter into his voice, sensing the stiffening posture of the hidden listener. He bugled his words, filling his chest with air, shouting with forceful volume.
“Their nest lies to the west of this great ridge!” He extended his head toward the crest of the High Kharolis. “Gather with me in our sacred clearing. We will mass there. Tomorrow we attack!”
With perfect timing, the two females came into view, hurrying to join with Deathfyre’s steady flight. “This way!” he called, more loudly than was necessary. “Come with me as we gather our numbers!”
Propelled by a final pulse of his wings, Deathfyre lifted himself up and over the ridge flanking the valley, with Cynysi and Kyri flying right behind him. As soon as they were out of sight of the cave, Deathfyre again became invisible, then circled back to watch.
Coming to rest on the crest opposite the cave, he saw the slender copper emerge. The serpent’s agitation was clear in the stiff, twitching restlessness of his wings, and in the jerking of his head back and forth. The quandary was obvious to the sinister watcher. The dragon was torn between staying in his cave, or flying to the secret lair to carry the warning to his kin-dragons. Obviously it was not an easy decision.
Finally the copper made up his mind. He took to the air, flying with visible urgency, staying as near to the ground as he could. His course was the same as that taken by the two silvers.
And he was completely unaware of the massive, winged shape that glided silently and quickly and invisibly in his wake.
Chapter 23
Aurican’s Revenge
2693 PC
Aurican teleported by memory, bringing himself not directly to Silvanost, but over the northern forests of the elven realm. He wanted to approach the capital with a plan, so now he flew as an eagle over the woodlands, winging steadily southward. His great feathered wings bore him quickly, and if he was spotted, the enemy wouldn’t know that a dragon approached.
The evidence of war was everywhere across the landscape below, and it was with grief that the gold dragon thought of the lives lost, the destruction wrought by the Dark Queen’s legions. A mighty rage swelled within him, and he desperately wanted to find Crematia and kill her. Yet almost immediately the anger passed, replaced by a wave of melancholy as he thought of his precious charges back at the grotto.
They’re too young—all of them! The ancient dragon all but groaned at the prosect of renewed warfare, knowing of the vicious and implacable foe awaiting them. Even the mightiest of his youngsters, Callak and Auricus, were mere neophytes at magic, lacking all but the most insignificant of spells. Too, they didn’t possess the size and power needed to face a full-fledged serpent of the Dark Queen in open battle. Any mature black or green would be able to blast one of those wyrmlings from the sky with a single lethal expulsion of breath!
That was why he kept them there, where, at the very least, they would be safe. Deep in his heart, he knew that even if the elven nation fell, if he himself were killed, the race of metal dragonkind would survive.
But how could the elves hope to stand? It broke Aurican’s heart to see the wrack of war, the horrors he had thought vanquished more than five hundred winters earlier. But now fires had again ravaged the lush woods, and towns and farms were torched into ruin. In places, the ground was black and utterly dead, marking the killing swath of an evil dragon’s breath—be it acid, frost, or any of the other lethal assails of the chromatic wyrms. Trees were splintered, and though fires still smoldered here and there, he could see that, for the most part, the war that had claimed this borderland had moved relentlessly on.
Aurican flew at a very high altitude, for the gold knew he would need surprise and speed to accomplish anything against his deadly foes. He winged steadily onward, seeing that the devastation was sweeping, even worse than it had been in the first war. The dragon soared over the ruin of a crystal-walled town whose stone barrier had been melted into shapeless muck by infernal heat. The buildings had been smashed into splinters, and areas that must have once been serene gardens were now trampled expanses of mud and ruin.
Flying onward, he found more smoke, sensed that war still raged in this region. He saw columns of troops marching through the wrack, great files that must certainly be ogres. Fury flared again, and he forced himself to resist the urge to dive, to incinerate a hundred ogres with an expulsion of his fiery breath. He would be patient, retaining the eagle’s body, saving his first appearance for an opportunity to strike at the crucial enemy: Crematia.
As he flew, the gold dragon’s eyes swept the ravaged forest, seeking some sign of a target. Finally he saw the crystal towers of Silvanost rising to the south and took some comfort from the fact that the elven city still stood. Magic shimmered in the distant air, and he knew that the three wizards had sustained some kind of defense, a barrier against the city’s ultimate collapse and destruction. The tenuous protection seemed to ring the island city but left the rest of the realm vulnerable to the invaders.
And then he saw a flash of crimson scales, a scarlet shape flying low and fast above the river leading toward Silvanost. He followed the serpentine form, saw the huge size of his target, the winged shadow flickering over the murky waters of the river. Aurican expanded into his true form, spread his golden wings, and made ready to dive. The blood-red dragon was Crematia, he knew, and the knowledge brought his hatred surging into a consuming emotion, a boiling fire in his guts.
The majestic gold tucked his wings and leaned forward, forming the deadly missile that was a diving dragon. Neck extended, belly rumbling with the pressure of surging flame, Aurican plunged swiftly downward. He watched the serenely gliding red grow larger in his vision. The wind whistled past his head as he descended, and his forelegs reached with unconscious tension, straining to rip sharp talons through crimson scales, to rend Crematia�
��s hateful flesh with the sudden onslaught of his attack.
The red dragon flew with a curious lack of caution, as if contemptuous of the very notion of danger. She glided without effort, crocodilian head swinging back and forth with arrogant unconcern. Auri thought he knew the reason: Everywhere Crematia looked, she saw only devastation and destruction, proof that her armies held sway over all this vast forestland.
Closer plunged the gold dragon, gases of angry fire now building irresistibly, seething toward inevitable release. A moment before collision, Aurican’s eruption of flame sizzled forward in a jet of searing fire, roaring like an inferno around the crimson form. He knew the blast—lethal to almost any creature alive—wouldn’t seriously injure this monstrous wyrm, but he hoped the surprising onslaught would give him an initial advantage when the two great bodies met. The gold dragon hurled himself into the dissipating fireball, clawing and striking, slashing talon and fang against—
Air! The massive crimson form had disappeared! There was no target here, only …
In that instant’s reflection, Aurican recognized the trap and acted with the speed of his thought. He whipped his head upward, arching his back to pull out of the dive as the space below him suddenly erupted with a hellish fireball of hissing, crackling flame. Crematia swept past, her deadly ambush foiled by his instantaneous evasion.
But then another crimson form smashed into Aurican from the other side, powerful jaws rending his wing, claws tearing golden scales from his flank. Flames roared, masking his vision even though the heat could not penetrate his golden scales. He bellowed and twisted, his reaction too slow to clamp his jaws into the supple red dragon that pushed away, Auri’s blood trailing from his claws and teeth.
The gold flipped onto his back, pitching desperately through a roll to come out in pursuit of Crematia. His wing was torn, but he could still fly, impelled as much by a monstrous, consuming rage as he was by the strength of his aging limbs. The other red, a creature that was much smaller than Crematia, fell rapidly behind as the gold’s plummeting speed carried him away. There were more of them now, a half dozen young red dragons swarming in pursuit.
Aurican muttered a quick spell, teleporting himself in front of the evil matriarch, avoiding another slashing attack by the youngsters. He reared, wings spread, jaws gaping, ready to meet his ancient foe.
Crematia and Aurican crashed together in a tangle of rending fangs and slashing talons. Clenched in a lethal embrace, the two serpents tumbled through the air, rolling and plunging toward the ground. Grimly Aurican seized the red’s neck in his foreclaws, ignoring the stabbing jolts of pain as her rear legs ripped into his belly.
Only at the last minute did Crematia break away, throwing herself outward and flailing her wings in a desperate attempt to gain altitude. Sensing his enemy’s desperation, Aurican cast another spell, an enchantment that went against the very nature of his enemy’s being.
A cone of cold blasted outward, searing the fire-loving red in a shivering onslaught of deadly frost. Crematia shrieked, straining to stay aloft, but by then Aurican flexed his own wings, trying to pull himself out of the headlong dive. Breaking away, Aurican saw the ancient red smash into the treetops, plunging downward to crash into the ground. She lay in a shady grove, twitching spasmodically, then growing still.
And then there were chromatic dragons coming from everywhere, blue and black, green, white and red. Aurican quickly masked himself with invisibility, but he knew that wouldn’t long deter the magic-using wyrms. Changing shape quickly into the body of a tiny hummingbird, he dived toward the ground and darted under a frond of leafy fern near the great crimson body.
Soon the clearing was crowded with dragons, a seething nest of bright scales slithering and coiling around Crematia’s motionless body. The wyrms were shocked, trembling with fury, growling and hissing as they glared here and there.
“Where’s Deathfyre?” asked one, a black.
“I come.”
Now there was another red dragon here, a surprisingly huge wyrm that was nevertheless as sleekly muscled as a young adult. He came to rest beside Crematia, and the other chromatic dragons fell back. The hummingbird that was Aurican, still and soundless, watched from beneath his leafy concealment.
“My matriarch!” groaned the red dragon, laying his neck alongside Crematia’s bleeding form as that great serpent stirred slightly, moaning in pain. This newcomer was Deathfyre, Aurican knew, and he realized with a shudder that the ancient red had left behind a very powerful heir.
“We shall have our revenge!” the one called Deathfyre declared, his voice a wicked and hateful hiss. “For I have found the grotto of the good dragons. I followed a fool of a copper until he showed me the entrance. Now we go there, and we kill!”
“I am proud of you, my son,” gasped the dying red. “Strike your blow swiftly, and then return here. Remember, find your strongest enemy … kill him. Mercy is weakness …”
“… and weakness is death!” hissed Deathfyre.
“Good, my son … Kill as many of the metal wyrms as you can … but then return here. The elves, with their magic, are mighty, and you dare not leave them unguarded for long.”
“We shall complete the revenge,” Deathfyre promised.
He might have said more, but by then Aurican had already teleported back to the cavern in the High Kharolis.
Chapter 24
Dragonflight
2693 PC
The golden patriarch appeared in the grotto, just above the nest. With a flap of his vast wings, he settled to the ground as the younger wyrms stirred and hissed in shock at his sudden appearance. Wings buzzing, the throng of metal wyrms faced their sire. The agitation quickly settled as the nestmates recognized Aurican.
“Quickly, take wing, my wyrmlings! You have very little time!” declared the venerable gold, the urgency in his voice piercing any vestige of normalcy held by the younger serpents. Looking around, Auri saw that all the nestmates had gathered. Even Brunt was here, smelling of fish and brine.
“But why, sire?” demanded Auricus, trying to speak calmly. “And where do you command us to go?”
“The dragons of the Dark Queen are coming. Crematia is dead, but she has a scion, called Deathfyre, every bit as wicked as herself. And he’s learned of the grotto!” His eyes fell upon Tharn, who hissed and glared about, ready to fight. The gold dragon said nothing about what he had overheard, though he felt certain Deathfyre had somehow discovered Tharn’s lair and then followed the hot-tempered copper to the grotto beneath the High Kharolis. Yet there was neither time nor purpose for recriminations. They had to move.
“They will be here as soon as they can gather and teleport. As to where, you must divide into your clans. Callak, you take the silvers; Auricus, you lead the golds. Tharn, Dazzall, Brunt—you take charge of leading your siblings to safety.”
Agon flapped his wings loudly, rearing onto the withered stumps of his rear legs, the limbs that had been wrinkled and twisted since his birth. “Should we not fight them, Grandfather?” he demanded.
Aurican sighed, wishing he had time to explain. He shook his head, regretful but firm. “There are too many of them. You must take wing. Our only hope lies in the future—and then only if you can escape.”
“We go!” cried Callak, sensing the urgency. He pounced to the nest and reached out with a foreclaw to lift the silver chain of the ram’s horn, allowing the precious artifact to slide over his neck. Agon, Arjen, Daria, and the other silvers padded after, ready to follow their brother from the grotto.
The wyrms of the brown metals, too, as well as Auricus and his golden nestmates, also buzzed wings, surging in agitation. Only Aurican looked back with a momentary pang of regret, knowing that they departed a place that had been hallowed by the metal dragons for ages. It was an ignominious departure, and his throat tightened with rage and frustration as he considered, only for a moment, how much he wanted to remain here, to fight the chromatic dragons for this place.
But these w
yrmlings were still too young. They would be doomed in any fight with the mighty serpents of Takhisis. Such foolish sentimentality was more fitting for a human or elf, creatures with the emotional vulnerability to know love. He wondered for a dazed instant: Could the two-legs, those creatures who spoke so enthusiastically of love, learn to love a place? Was such a thing even possible? With cold reality driving the moment of reflection from his mind, he reared above the brood and glared sternly about.
“I will lead the way. If I must fight, I will, but the rest of you are to flee with all haste. Leave me, if you must, but escape. This is my command, and the command of your Platinum Father as well.”
The wyrmlings took wing, buzzing through the air behind Aurican as he flew from the door cave into the vast chamber of the underground lake. There was no sign of the enemy here, but this didn’t surprise him. From the words he had overheard, he suspected Deathfyre had discovered the cave leading from the Valley of Paladine, but doubted that he had risked coming in this far. It seemed likely that, if he had, one of the nestlings would have noticed the intrusion.
With this thought, he wheeled into a tight spiral, whirling through the darkness above the great subterranean lake. A thousand thoughts tumbled through his mind as he sensed that this was the last lesson he would ever bestow upon the young wyrmlings.
“Make your lairs far from here, in secret places,” he told them. “Be true to each other, for you are the strongest allies your nestmates will ever have. When you have eggs, guard them with the last breath of your lives! And know that each of you is strong, strong in his own way. Find those ways, my children, and survive!”
