The History of Krynn: Vol I

by Dragon Lance

  The raiders cheered, but it sounded forced. Greengall departed, his grotesquely long legs bowing out as he walked away.

  Several paces distant, he stopped. Turning back, he added, “Oh, yes. Hang that one.”

  Oswan blanched and held out his hands. “Spare me, Master!” Oswan wailed. “I did no wrong!”

  “You let the enemy get the better of you,” Greengall replied. His face contorted in a wide, wicked grin. “Hang a while, and consider your failure.”

  Hoten signaled, and Oswan was seized by comrades and dragged off, screaming his loyalty and innocence. Greengall, ordinarily very fond of hangings, ambled back to his tent, idly licking the bronze scale. Zannian hesitated a moment between his bleeding mother and his freakish master, then followed Greengall.

  “Master!” he called, as the latter was about to enter his tent.

  Greengall turned, taking the scale from his lips.

  “Why not spare Oswan? If the men were ambushed by a dragon, they had no chance to win anyway.”

  “I know.”

  Zannian blinked. “Why kill him? We’ll need every man for the battle ahead.”

  Greengall lifted the flap of this tent. “Hanging him will encourage the others.”

  Greengall ducked inside and reclined on his couch of rotting leaves. Zannian hovered near the flap, wishing his master would light a lamp. He heard a scrabbling in the peat and leaves, followed by a muffled crunching. Greengall must have found a rat or roach.

  The dragon swallowed and said, “Don’t hover there like some cautious bat. Come in!”

  Zannian stepped forward and let the flap fall.

  “It’s time your scouts were given their special spears. Make sure the potion is applied to the bronze tips.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Take no more prisoners until Duranix is found. Any man your riders meet might be the dragon in disguise, so kill any humans you find until I tell you to stop.” Greengall belched loudly. A horrible stench filled the tent. “One other thing, Zannian.”

  “Yes, Master?”

  Greengall stretched and scratched himself, his talons scraping loudly against his leathery skin. “The human female you once desired is not far away.”

  Heat flared in the young warrior’s breast. “Beramun? Where is she?”

  “Arku-peli.”

  Zannian’s heart raced. Greengall might be lying – he certainly had a black sense of humor – but what if he wasn’t?

  “She couldn’t have escaped if I hadn’t allowed it,” Greengall continued smugly. “She is where I wished her to go. Through her, Arku-peli will fall. She’s my egg in little Duranix’s nest.”

  “When the valley is ours, I will have her?” Zannian asked, with undisguised yearning.

  “That is up to you, little Zan. If the fight does not consume you both, she may yet be yours. When the village is in ruins and the Lake of the Falls is saturated with the blood of Duranix and his nest of rodents, you may claim whatever you want from the remains.”

  Greengall dismissed Zannian, and the young man withdrew, his head spinning. He was filled with new zeal, new purpose. If it meant finding Beramun again, he would tear down the mountains with his bare hands. He’d been stricken from the time he first saw her, and her escape had made his desire for her grow unbearably. Now that he knew she was in Arku-peli, he couldn’t wait to lead his men into battle.

  Thoughts of fighting and the black-haired girl put a swagger in Zannian’s step. He walked back to the firelit camp humming happily, not even noticing the body of Oswan swinging from a tree.

  Chapter 13

  The sounds of the night abruptly ceased. Frogs, crickets, owls, and other denizens of the dark fell silent. The sudden silence stirred Duranix from his nap. He opened one eye.

  He spotted a line of horsemen riding in single file along the southern horizon. From the gear they wore, he deduced they must be from the same band as the other three he’d fought. Evidently his message to Sthenn had been ignored.

  Duranix crawled from his resting place. Rocks tumbled away as he straightened his stiff legs. Noise carried far on the savanna, and the column of riders halted, hearing the clatter.

  The dragon sprang into the open, expanding to his true shape as he hurtled into the air. Landing at full stretch, he spread his wings, threw back his head, and sent a bolt of white-hot lightning blasting from his throat.

  The raiders reacted strangely to the terrifying display. Instead of galloping away, they broke formation and charged. Nonplussed, the dragon watched as the small party surrounded him, spears leveled.

  Duranix swiped at the nearest rider. Rearing up on his hind legs, he exhaled his fear-inducing breath at the rest of the men. To his immense surprise, the men and horses did not bolt. Both men and beasts wore masks over noses and mouths, and the leather masks were smeared with some kind of oily paste. Duranix knew Sthenn dabbled with herbs and potions. Apparently he had prepared his forces for this type of attack.

  A sharp pain flared in Duranix’s right leg. He’d been so astonished by the failure of his fear-breath that he’d failed to notice the last rider in line. The fellow had worked in behind and pricked the dragon’s right rear leg with a bronze-tipped spear. With a roar, Duranix whirled on his attacker.

  The dragon’s claw shot out and plucked the raider from his horse. The man was a brave fellow and didn’t scream, even when the dragon bit his head off.

  Duranix hurled the body at the raiders, then spat the man’s head at them for good measure. Still they did not flee, but merely circled out of reach.

  The dragon tried to pull the spear from his hip, but the flimsy shaft snapped, leaving the bronze head embedded. Bellowing, he lunged at the nearest rider. The human’s pony pranced sideways, narrowly avoiding Duranix’s talons. The raider had the temerity to jab at the dragon with his spear.

  Once more Duranix was taken aback. These insane humans were trying to fight him! Humans always fled when he attacked. These raiders, mounted on fleet horses, could have galloped away at any time, but instead they maneuvered around him, making menacing thrusts with their puny spears.

  Puny but painful! Duranix’s hip wound burned. The pain was so abnormal he had a terrible moment of insight. He leaped backward several paces and groped in the wound to find the spearhead. He shuddered in agony, but persisted and found the jagged triangle of bronze. With the tips of two talons, he teased it out and gave the point a quick sniff.

  Poison. The smell was pungent and fetid – Sthenn’s personal blend.

  Six of the raiders marshaled themselves and charged. Duranix feigned a greater hurt than he felt and awaited their attack, head hung low. At the last moment, he launched himself over the charging horsemen, vaulting above their heads and alighting behind them.

  Their comrades shouted warnings too late. With two wide sweeps of his claws, Duranix cut the men to pieces. Foreclaws dripping gore, his eyes flashing with fury, he faced the remaining three raiders.

  “Flee!” cried one. “We’re outdone!”

  “Stand fast!” bellowed another. “Remember Oswan! If I’m to die, let it be fighting a great beast, not kicking at the end of a rope!”

  So saying, he gave a full-throated battle cry and charged. A heartbeat later, the other two kicked their mounts into action as well.

  With pain singing through his leg, Duranix had no patience left. His mouth gaped, and a lightning bolt issued forth. Three riders, their horses, and a goodly patch of savanna were reduced to cinders in the twitch of an eye.

  As the smoke rose into the starry sky, Duranix sank to the ground, panting. Numbness gripped the muscles around his wound, and when he tried to stand, the useless limb would not support his weight. Hobbling to the dead raiders he hadn’t incinerated, he stripped off their chaps and tore the leather into strips. With these he made a tourniquet to restrict the spread of the poison from his leg.

  It scarcely helped. The weakness was spreading rapidly up his haunch, toward his wing. When he tried to f
ly, he was so badly off balance he tumbled headfirst to the ground.

  After four such spills, he gave up, exhausted. The numbness now encompassed his right leg and wing, and was creeping across his lower back.

  The dragon raged at his own stupid complacency. He’d known these humans were allied with Sthenn, and yet he’d let them get close enough to stick him with their primitive weapons. He pondered gnawing off his poisoned leg, to keep the toxin from reaching his heart. The limb would grow back eventually, but until it did he would be a helpless cripple, easy prey for Sthenn or his bold human minions.

  Duranix limped eastward, moving awkwardly on three legs. Keeping to creeks and gullies, he avoided showing himself, in case other raiders were tracking him.

  As the white moon set and the deep stillness of late night settled over the plain, he was reduced to crawling. His right rear leg and right wing were completely useless, and his left leg had begun to tremble under his weight, Duranix had to pull himself forward with his foreclaws, occasionally assisted by thrusts of his weakening left leg. He kept this up for some time, putting more and more distance between himself and the raiders.

  The rustle of wings overhead was followed by a ground tremor, as something heavy alighted nearby. By this time, Duranix was so dazed with pain and fatigue he hardly noticed.

  “Dear, dear,” said a simpering voice. “What a sight!”

  Duranix pushed himself up with his forelegs and lifted his heavy head. “Sthenn!” he rasped. “Where are you, you wretched lizard?”

  “Behind you, dear friend, as always.”

  Duranix looked back. Sthenn’s silhouette blotted out the stars. With great effort, the bronze dragon hauled himself around to face his adversary.

  Sthenn watched his struggle with amusement. “It’s been a long time, little Duranix.”

  “Not long enough. Come to finish me off?”

  Sthenn blinked his dark-veined eyes. “Finish you? Certainly not. That would be too easy. You’ve a long way to go yet. All the way back to Arku-peli.”

  Duranix stretched his jaws wide and loosed a bolt of lightning large enough to split a mountaintop. Sthenn leaped into the air, his desiccated wings flapping just enough to keep him aloft, and the bolt flashed harmlessly beneath him. Duranix quickly corrected his aim and another blast blazed forth. Sthenn rolled to one side, dodging easily.

  “A merry game!” he declared. “I wonder which of us will tire of it first?”

  The second bolt left Duranix prostrate. Sthenn landed nearby and approached with wings folded. Drawing himself up to his full height, he looked down on his helpless foe with enormous delight.

  “Be still, little one,” the green said soothingly as Duranix tried to rise. “I won’t harm you further... yet.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Can’t you guess? Your land, your humans, your lair, your life. I’ve spent centuries planning your destruction. There’s no hurry. My beautiful plot is still playing out.”

  Duranix clenched his eyes shut, summoning all his strength, then he began to crawl away. Sthenn watched avidly, enjoying every agonized movement

  “Shall I tell you my plan?” he asked. “I am quite ingenious, you know. The first step was to create the yevi. I thought I could rid the plains of wandering humans with them, but you interfered more directly than I expected.” Sthenn’s amused expression darkened. “When you recruited the two-legged rodents to serve you, I had to do the same. How do you stand the smell of them?”

  “You get used to it,” grunted Duranix as he dragged himself forward.

  “You never were as sensitive as I. Still, my humans have been useful to me. They’re more vicious than the yevi and a good deal more clever. The boy Zannian has a great talent for bloodshed. While waiting for your favorite pet to age, I groomed my own to be a conqueror.”

  Duranix’s head snapped around in surprise, and Sthenn nodded, pleased by the effect of his pronouncement.

  “Destroying your favorite human is part of my plan.”

  The green dragon stepped with exaggerated daintiness around his struggling foe. He extended a single gnarled talon and tapped lightly on Duranix’s open wound. The bronze dragon flinched but made no sound.

  “Painful? Bad as it is, it won’t kill you. I didn’t compound a lethal dose. You will become more and more helpless, but you won’t die.”

  Helpless. Duranix refused to let his enemy see how that word terrified him. Instead he spat, “Coward! Kill me if you dare! If you don’t, I swear on the deaths of my mother and clutchmates, I will kill you!”

  Sthenn grinned widely. “Ah, your mother. Amylyrix was a worthy opponent.” He slowly shook his head in a mockery of sadness. “How tragic she was unable to protect her offspring in the end. Come to think of it, she didn’t protect herself very well either. And that makes me the better dragon, yes?”

  So saying, the green dragon sank his claws into Duranix’s injured leg. The bronze roared loud enough to rattle the stars. Rearing up, he tried to grapple with his tormentor.

  Sthenn easily caught Duranix’s foreclaws in his own. “You’re weak,” he taunted, shaking his head in mock sorrow. “There’s no pleasure in besting a weakling.”

  Duranix saw an opening, drew back and smashed his horned skull into Sthenn’s face. The ancient bones in the green dragon’s face were thick and hard, but his aged flesh was not. Duranix’s horns punched through Sthenn’s brittle scales into the gray flesh beneath.

  Sthenn shrieked in hurt and outrage. Duranix lunged again and clamped his jaws around the old dragon’s throat.

  Sthenn let go of Duranix’s foreclaws and backpedaled furiously, all the while working to pry the bronze dragon’s jaws apart. Too sick to maintain his grip, Duranix felt his bite weaken. Sthenn slipped free.

  The green dragon hurled himself backward a full twenty paces. “You dare to hurt me?” he said shrilly. “You’ll suffer tenfold for this!”

  Duranix felt a surge of exhilaration. Despite his terrible weakness, he could still hurt his enemy. He rasped, “Come! Let’s fight the way our ancestors did, by tooth and claw! Leave the humans to settle their own disputes. I’m a third your age, and I have only three limbs to fight with! What do you say? Let’s have it over and done with now.”

  Sthenn kept his distance. “Fool,” the green dragon sneered. “My poison will rot your innards before the flowers fall from the trees. Not till then will we meet again. It will be a pretty reunion, for I shall pick you apart like a cockroach!”

  Sthenn launched himself into the sky, opened his wings, and flapped to gain height.

  “Soon, little Duranix!” he called from above, his high-pitched voice echoing through the dawn. “Think of me as you suffer in the days to come!”

  *

  It was early afternoon, and Duranix had been gone four days – far too long for an ordinary look around. At first, Amero hadn’t worried. The dragon came and went as he pleased, but with enemies reputed in the area, his prolonged absence seemed more ominous.

  From the hillside below the cliffs, Amero could see across the rooftops of Yala-tene to the still incomplete town wall. The final gap had been closed, but the stonework was still only head high. He’d have to scrape up what idle hands he could to resume work there.

  Someone came up behind him, and he felt a cool hand on his shoulder. Expecting Lyopi, he was startled to find it was Beramun. He stared at her. He’d suspected she would be pretty once the filth of her arduous journey was cleaned away. What he hadn’t realized was that she would be beautiful.

  Well-scrubbed and dressed in Lyopi’s clothes, Beramun had put on a little weight since her arrival, and her skin had acquired a healthier hue. Unbraided, her hair fell in a dense black wave just past her waist, with shorter tendrils curling around her oval face. Her eyes were large, dark as ebony, and fringed with thick black lashes. She was the loveliest woman Amero had ever seen.

  “Arkuden, do I disturb you?”

  The true answer brought a rueful smile to
his face, but he said, “No, not at all. How are you? Do you have all you need?”

  “Yes, thanks to you.” She did not look satisfied, however, but worried. “Where are the raiders?” She stepped beside him. A tall girl, she stood nearly eye to eye with him. “They could have been here by now if they wanted. What are they doing? I hate standing idle, waiting for lightning to strike!”

  He smiled. “I know how you feel. Duranix has been gone a long time, and no wanderers have entered the valley from the western approaches for seven days. It’s like the savanna swallowed dragon and nomads alike.”

  “Can’t we do something?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know! Something! The raiders are coming, and I feel as though I’m doing nothing!” She bit her lip and added in a low voice, “Your woman doesn’t like me.”

  “My woman?”

  “Lyopi. She’s your mate, isn’t she?”

  “No!” More calmly, he explained, “We’re not mates. We’re... friends. She lost her man on a winter hunt a few seasons past. She and I keep company. If we became mates, she would have to leave her home —”

  “And you live with a dragon.” Beramun laughed. It was a light, cheerful sound that warmed Amero.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Have you a family? A mate?”

  “What family I had perished at the hands of Zannian’s raiders.” Her beautiful face darkened. “One day I’ll see him dead for it.”

  “Revenge is a bitter fruit, Beramun. When your enemies die, it doesn’t make the pain go away.”

  Beramun didn’t answer. The sun slid behind a band of clouds. She shivered with the sudden chill and gazed up at the sky. Amero thought he saw a tear trembling in the comer of one eye.

  “Since you have no family,” he said, “you should live with us in Yala-tene.”

  “I’m a girl of the plains, Arkuden. Your village seems strange to me – so enclosed, so crowded and busy.” She gestured at the mountains. “Even out there, the cliffs feel like they’re closing in on me.”