The Dragons

by Doug Niles

  Again silver scales gleamed as the mighty dragon assumed his true shape. Sadly Lectral scooped a grave in the rocky ground of the Khalkist shale, remembering his first reluctant acquaintance with this brave man.

  “Ah, my friend, you were a worthy foe for Tombfyre, and for the Dark Queen herself, whether they knew it or not.”

  Gently the silver dragon lifted the limp body and laid it in the grave. With a few scoops of his massive forelegs, Lectral poured dirt and gravel over the motionless shape until the grave was a slightly mounded spot atop the low hill. He patted and smoothed the surface for a long time, wanting to insure that the surface was perfect.

  With a shimmering of magic, the mighty silver shape contracted, faded to a mundane gray, and rose to stand upon two feet. The figure of a proud knight stood beside the burial site, head bowed, hands clasped before his armored chest as he remembered the brave warrior’s last moments.

  “O Platinum Father,” murmured Lectral. “Please see that this courageous Knight of the Crown receives the honors due a hero of Paladine … and know that he will be missed, by humans and dragons alike. By the Oath and the Measure, he fought well and died as a hero.”

  Fighting a curious twinge of emotion that thickened his throat and misted his eyes, Lectral looked to the placid lake just below the hill. Many ripples spread across the surface, marking the feeding of numerous trout as they snatched flies and water bugs from the surface.

  He wondered idly if they were rainbows. He hoped they were, for that trout had been Allsar Dane’s favorite.

  “Good fishing, my friend,” murmured the silver dragon, once again a gleaming serpent.

  With a respectful nod, Lectral spread his wings to catch the mountain breeze, gliding low over the sparkling blue waters, then stroking powerfully upward to soar above the encircling ridge. Gusts of wind swirled, lifting him higher, but he used his strength to hasten his ascent, no longer content to ride the breeze like some carrion-hunting bird.

  He thought of Silvara and Heart, of their talk of love. Surely that was not an emotion for dragons … but was it true that it could be learned? Is that what he felt now, the emotion that was causing him such grief? Perhaps it was true that a dragon, a young dragon at any rate, could in fact learn to love.

  Perhaps, in fact, that was the silvers’ unique gift to the clans of their kin-dragons. It was the counterpart to the learned reflection and the magical mastery of the golds, the genial sociability of the brass or the stolid strength of the bronzes. Even the vengeful coppers had shown that, through the ages, there was a need for violence and fury, and the clan of Cymbol had borne that torch bravely and well.

  And for the silvers, was it their place to show the kin-dragons the value, even the mere existence, of love? Perhaps that and, of course, to embody the pure beauty of flight, the thing that the silvers did so much better than any of the other metallic dragons.

  Lectral considered the question. His life was his flying—that was the thing that gave him the purest joy. Indeed, if there were such a thing as love, perhaps flight was its purest expression. Finding himself among the heights again, he didn’t lapse into a leisurely glide. Instead, he strived like a youngster, pulling great scoops of air with each powerful beat of his wings, lifting himself higher than the surrounding ridges, vying for the altitude that was the province of the high peaks of the range.

  He knew the other silvers were dispersed, hunting perhaps, or waiting for word of the night’s developments. The evil dragons had fled from the skies over Kalaman and the plains, falling back to the twisted fortress that Lectral had glimpsed during his pursuit of Tombfyre. No doubt they still circled there, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their queen.

  A ram bleated, with a clatter of rocks, and Lectral looked up to see the creature skipping with uncanny precision along a lofty cliff. But something else moved above it, and in the instant of that awareness, he threw himself forward, wings extended to catch an immediate lift.

  Tombfyre appeared seemingly from nowhere, attacking with a blast of fire that cruelly seared Lectral’s tail. The silver dragon careened wildly down the mountainside, avoiding craggy outcrops, barely airborne. A crimson shape swept past, roaring in triumph and glee.

  What a fool I was! Lectral rebuked himself furiously. He had been alone and careless, lost in his pathetic musings, making a splendid opportunity for a vicious and implacable enemy. If not for the bleating of the frightened mountain sheep, the battle would have ended at once—a fatal ambush leading to a solitary and anonymous kill.

  Struggling for equilibrium, Lectral saw the ground whirling upward and knew he was about to crash into the mountainside. With a quick word of magic, he teleported high into the sky, pulling out of his spin as Tombfyre roared a fiery ball of frustration below.

  But then the red dragon disappeared, and the silver whirled in sudden alarm, ready for a magical attack from above or behind. There was no sign of Tombfyre anywhere in the sky, until Lectral cast another spell, one that allowed him to see objects masked by a spell of invisibility. His enemy stood clearly revealed, the mask of magic ripped away as the red dragon strived higher and higher through the air.

  Replying in kind, Lectral blinked out of sight behind a spell of his own invisibility. Tilting his wings, he angled toward the infuriated red. From the fixed nature of Tombfyre’s glaring eyes, the silver knew that his enemy wasn’t fooled by the spell. No doubt Tombfyre, too, possessed the ability to detect objects concealed by invisibility magic.

  The silver dragon circled at a lofty height, as high as he had ever flown before. He watched the red laboring through the thin air, striving to reach him, and once more Lectral knew the pure joy of soaring even above the birds. He felt a serene sense of calm, knowing now that this was a proper destiny for him and his clan.

  Finally Tombfyre reached that great altitude, and the two dragons swept together, jaws gaping, widespread wings sweeping forward in a mutual but deadly embrace. Combined roars echoed like thunder from the surrounding heights while the serpents rushed toward a violent merging.

  No longer would Lectral try to evade his archenemy; neither would he flee nor give chase. They would meet here, a mile or more above the mountaintops, and they would resolve a fight that had been waged over thousands of years. Here, now, it would be finished.

  Lectral filled his lungs, started his blast of frost as he saw the first tongues of flame erupt from Tombfyre’s horrible maw. A blast of cold and fire mingled with thunderous force as the two ancient wyrms smashed together. Tombfyre’s fireball encircled Lectral, while the blast of frost exploded outward to envelop the hateful crimson wyrm. Locked in a clench of claw and fang and serpentine tails, the pair of monstrous fliers plummeted downward.

  Lectral was sorely hurt, and he knew his wings had been seared beyond their ability to carry him in flight. His enemy, too, had been crippled by the deadly expulsion. The silver dragon clenched his jaws tightly over Tombfyre’s throat, preventing any sound, any attempt at spellcasting that the red dragon might make. Silver talons punctured scarlet scales, ripping into the red dragon’s flesh, clutching him in a merciless embrace.

  Tombfyre squirmed frantically, desperate now as he sensed his enemy’s intention. Wind whistled past their scales, soothing the burned flaps of Lectral’s wings as the ground suddenly seemed to rush upward with blurring, reckless speed.

  At the last moment, Tombfyre made a frantic twist, a final, desperate try to escape. But Lectral just pulled him closer, and together they completed their final dive, merging with terrible violence into the world of their ancestors.

  Epilogue

  Home at Last

  352 PC

  The clans of Paladine’s dragons dispersed with the scattering of the Dark Queen’s armies and the final failure of Takhisis herself. Ariakas stood at the gate, but he died before he could witness his queen’s frustration—and the freeing of the Golden General. As the tower of Neraka collapsed, the dragons of good and evil took wing, once more flying free i
n the skies over Krynn, unbound by oath or pledge, by master or mistress.

  Many of the metal dragons who had borne riders remained in the company of those humans, elves, or dwarves, aiding them in the strife that still raged across the face of Ansalon. Battles continued to rage in many places, but these were mere skirmishes by comparison to the vast campaigns of the war.

  The brass dragons, led by Kirsah, resumed their social interaction with mankind. Many of the golds returned to their studies, and the coppers, vengeful until the end, hunted the evil wyrms throughout Ansalon. Some of the bronzes continued to fight as well, while others went back to their lairs beside the sea.

  Two silver shapes flew side by side through the Khalkists, fighting chromatic dragons wherever they could find them, though for the most part the surviving wyrms of the Dark Queen took pains to avoid the massive, vengeful serpents of argent. Always the two flew slowly, one or the other carefully studying the ground.

  After a long search, Dargentan and Darlant came around the shoulder of a smoking volcano to spot a mighty shape lying in the valley below. The two adult silvers settled beside the body of their great sire, still entangled as it was with the twisted remains of Tombfyre.

  A tattooed figure emerged from concealment, coming forward to bow to the two mighty wyrms.

  “I was waiting here, watching” said the wild elf brave, a warrior who bore the ram’s horn at his waist. “I knew you would come.”

  Carefully the two silver dragons pulled their sire free, and with a spell of alteration, they rendered his body into that of a wild elf brave. It was a fitting tribute for now, and even more important than his appearance, it rendered the mighty ancient into a form that one of the dragons would be able to carry aloft.

  “We shall bear him home,” Dargentan told the wild elf.

  But that home would not be in the north, did not exist on the pastoral isles waiting off the coast of the continent. Without discussion, the two silver scions took wing, Dargentan carefully bearing the body of his sire in his mighty foreclaws. Their course took them over the plains, past the victorious armies of the Golden General.

  For the first time in their thousand years of life, and the last time in the history of their mighty sire, they were going to their true home—home to the High Kharolis.

  Acknowledgments

  Every story of Dragonlance draws its heart and soul from the work of Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. They told of the War of the Lance in the Chronicles, and laid down much of the history of the world in the Legends trilogy and other works. Their writing has been an inspiration to me for more than a decade, and I am grateful to have a chance to share in the wonderful fantasy world of their creation.

  In this novel, I have taken the liberty of peeking into several previously existing tales, including the books of Margaret and Tracy, Richard Knaak, and several of my own earlier Dragonlance novels, presenting new interpretations of some scenes that have already been described. I have always employed a different point of view, and hopefully a fresh perspective, to these episodes—but I could not have done it without the original works for inspiration and detail.

  In addition to my gratitude to Margaret and Tracy, I would also like to thank Richard Knaak for the story of legendary Huma. Here, again, I have approached the history of Krynn from a new viewpoint (that of the dragons, of course) but have tried to blend my tale in a manner that is true to the stories already in existence.

  Also, thanks to Mary Kirchoff, Dan Parkinson, Harold Johnson, and Sue Weinlein Cook, for their previous work and current input into the ever-changing world of Krynn. And, of course, thanks to my Dragonlance editors: Bill Larson, J. Robert King, Pat McGilligan, and Brian Thomsen, all of whom have helped these stories more than any reader will ever know.

  About the Author

  Douglas Niles is a free-lance writer and game designer. He is the author of sixteen novels and numerous short stories, including three FORGOTTEN REALMS® trilogies and several DRAGONLANCE® tales for Wizards of the Coast LLC. He has recently written for the young adult market, with three novels for the FIRST QUEST™ line, and has also created a unique fantasy realm for the new Watershed trilogy.

  A former high-school teacher, Niles was inspired to switch careers after he discovered the D&D® game and ran a campaign for several years. He has designed over sixty different game products for Wizards of the Coast LLC., ranging from role-playing adventures and game systems to fast-playing board games and detailed military simulations. Among his game designs are numerous DRAGONLANCE modules and accessories, and the TOP SECRET/S.I.™ role-playing game system.

  FORGOTTEN REALMS, DRAGONLANCE and D&D are registered trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast LLC. FIRST QUEST and TOP SECRET/S.I, are trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast LLC.

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