The History of Krynn: Vol I

by Dragon Lance

  *

  Zannian and his chiefs, riding in the forefront of the raiders, halted abruptly. He flung up a hand, signaling the rest of the band to stop as well.

  “Did you hear that?” he exclaimed.

  Hoten, at his right, nodded gravely. “The voice of the bronze dragon.”

  “His death scream! The Master’s poison has done its work!” Zannian exulted, wrapping the reins tightly around his left fist. “Now there’s nothing between us and Arku-peli but a few scouts! Send word to my mother. Loose the Jade Men! Spare no one!”

  He kicked his mount into a gallop. The raiders raised a spontaneous shout of triumph and followed. When they topped the next rise, an unexpected sight met their eyes. “What’s this?” Zannian wondered aloud.

  On the opposite slope, a small party was drawn up in a circle. There couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty of them, all on foot, dressed in white, and lightly armed.

  “They look like children,” snorted Hoten.

  Sthenn’s warning about trickery rose in Zannian’s mind. This couldn’t be as easy as it appeared.

  “Hoten,” he said. “Take a hundred riders and follow the Jade Men.”

  “Aye, Zan. We’ll have no trouble.”

  The chief shook his head. “This smells bad to me. The Jade Men are fierce, but too young to know battle. Be ready to support them in case of treachery.”

  “Aye, Zan.” Hoten picked up a hundred raiders from the band behind him. They loaded their throwing sticks, and at Hoten’s command, started down the slope.

  The Jade Men, formed in a single line, gradually brought their flanks in, forming a silent circle fifty paces from the white-clad villagers. With their painted skin and dyed leather armor, they hardly seemed human. Nacris followed in their wake, her litter carried on the shoulders of four muscular bearers.

  To their credit, the villagers did not waver at the sight of death marching toward them. They held their small circle. In the center, a white-haired figure stood, holding aloft a short wooden staff.

  The Jade Men closed to within thirty paces. Nacris saw a flickering halo around the villagers’ leader. In the next heartbeat, a stream of fire, like horizontal lightning, lashed out from the circle of villagers. The ground exploded under the Jade Men’s feet. Stones, dirt, and burning clumps of grass flew everywhere. Five green-painted warriors were thrown down.

  The Jade Men closed the gap in their line and continued their silent advance undeterred. A second blast burst upon them. This time, Nacris was hurled to the hillside and two of her bearers were struck dead where they stood. She rolled over in the grass and tried to drag herself to safety.

  From his place atop the facing hill, Zannian watched with disbelieving anger. His fury grew as a ragged cheer rose from the circle of villagers.

  “What is this force they command?” he shouted at no one in particular. “Why wasn’t I told they could do this? Where is the Master?”

  Sthenn was reported to be some distance in the rear. Zannian sent riders to fetch the dragon.

  “Tell him they throw fire at my men!” the raider chief yelled as the messengers sped away. “We need him to overcome them!”

  Zannian turned to his mounted warriors. “The rest of you, form on me!” he ordered, and the balance of the center block of raiders, two hundred strong, closed ranks. “No throwing sticks. Spears! Use your spears!”

  Two hundred flint-tipped lances swung down. Bellowing hoarsely, Zannian led them down the hill. Reaching Hoten’s band, Zannian united both groups and started toward the ring of cheering villagers.

  When they were sixty paces from the white-clad enemy, a third bolt of lightning lashed out, flying over the heads of the Jade Men and hitting the ground scant steps from Zannian’s gray stallion. The raider chief felt the heat of it on his face, and dirt and stones flew wildly, but he kept going.

  At twenty paces, a fourth bolt was unleashed, but it was far smaller than the others and flew harmlessly wide of the raiders, tearing a smoking hole in the hillside. That was the last. The Jade Men reached the slender line of villagers and fell on them like wolves.

  As the enemy’s blood flowed, the Jade Men gave voice for the first time, chanting, “Greengall! Greengall!” Most of the villagers were speared where they stood. A few tried to run, but none got more than a few steps before being cut down.

  Zannian found Nacris sitting propped on the wreckage of her litter, trying to see the battle. He extended a hand to her. She swung awkwardly onto the horse behind him.

  “How goes the fight?” she said.

  “Your Jade Men are wading through the enemy’s blood.”

  “They closed for the kill despite the lightning?”

  “Not one turned away.”

  Her hard face split in a savage smile.

  Zannian approached the surviving villagers. He was astonished to see them fall back to protect their leader. The lightly armed youths surrounded their leader in a wall of living flesh, batting aside spear tips with their bare hands. Two even threw themselves on spearpoints to keep them from piercing the man in the center of their circle.

  Zannian put a ram’s horn to his lips and blew the call that ordered his men to stop fighting. The mounted raiders halted, but the Jade Men continued to press in, spearing the helpless villagers.

  “Order them to stop,” Zannian told Nacris. “I want to know about this power they possess.”

  She had to give the command twice, but the Jade Men finally drew back in a tight square in front of Zannian’s horse.

  Seven young men and women, their white doeskins torn and drenched with blood, clung together around their leader.

  “Yield or die,” Zannian said, halting his horse only a step away from the panting, bleeding group.

  The villagers’ leader maintained his straight-backed, arrogant posture. He was a strange-looking man – tall, pale, with hair the color of midwinter snow.

  “I am Tiphan, first servant of the great dragon of Yala-tene.”

  “Are you? And where is the great dragon of Yala-tene? Why does he leave his followers to perish like dogs?”

  “I sent him away,” Tiphan said proudly. “I am the defender of my people.”

  “You’ve done a job of it, too.” Zannian’s eyes raked over the dead youths. “Was it you throwing that blue fire?”

  “It was.”

  “Tell me how you do it, and I may spare your life.”

  “I possess the ancient power.” Tiphan’s proud stance was wavering, exhaustion evident on his face. He trembled, but said, “Send your warband away, and I will instruct you in the ways of the Sensarku.”

  Zannian laughed. The man’s gall was amazing.

  A large shadow swept over raider and villager alike. Zannian’s amusement became grimmer. He said, “You’re the one who’s about to learn something.”

  With a strong backwash of air, Sthenn landed. Tiphan’s young followers wailed when the saw the green dragon. The white-haired man spoke sharply to them, and they dragged themselves off their bellies and wrapped their bleeding arms around him, seeming both to support and draw strength from him.

  “What have we here?” Sthenn said. “Is this the source of the power I felt? I can’t believe it!”

  Tiphan drew himself as straight as he could. “I am Tiphan, first servant of the great dragon of Yala-tene.”

  “Friends of my old friend Duranix, eh?” Sthenn, blistered hide oozing pus, hopped several steps and landed heavily in front of the Sensarku. “How charming. Did he teach you those tricks?” The hideous green head snaked closer. “Did he?”

  Tiphan tried to maintain his defiant stance, but he shrank from his hideous questioner. His reply was nearly inaudible. “No. I learned them myself.”

  Sthenn’s jaws parted slightly. He blew a stream of cyan-colored gas on the villagers clinging to Tiphan’s legs. Coughing and retching horribly, the acolytes slid limply to the ground, poisoned by his breath. Sthenn’s bony claw darted in and took hold of Tiphan’s w
aist. He hoisted the man into the air.

  “Nothing is funnier than a rodent who thinks he’s important,” the green dragon said. He raked a single claw down Tiphan’s chest, slashing open his doeskin robe and drawing blood. “Tell me, wise rodent, what’s become of my dear, dear friend Duranix?”

  “He... lives,” Tiphan gasped, eyes streaming tears from the gas.

  “Of course he does!” Sthenn squeezed his hapless victim until blood spurted from Tiphan’s nose. “But where is he now?”

  “Yala... tene.”

  “Impossible!” Sthenn shook him hard, snapping his head forward and back. “Don’t lie to me, rodent! His hindquarters must be rotting by now!”

  The light of pride flared one last time in Tiphan’s blue eyes. “I cured him,” said the Sensarku leader.

  Sthenn could see he spoke the truth, and the dragon howled with pure vexation. He spread his jaws wide, intending to bite Tiphan’s head from his body, then changed his mind. Instead, he began to squeeze, gradually tightening his grip around the man’s waist, savoring each snapping bone.

  Tiphan’s head lolled back, his tongue protruding, and the green dragon relaxed his grip slightly, planning to draw out his death for as long as possible. Tiphan’s head slowly came up, and he opened his mouth. With his last breath, he called upon the remaining stones in his belt.

  A ball of white fire engulfed him, sending horses and men reeling back in terror. When it vanished seconds later, Tiphan was gone, and so was Sthenn’s foreclaw.

  The green dragon screamed. The stump of his right foreleg was blackened and smoking. Torrents of anger, pain, and outrage poured from his throat. He fell to the ground and thrashed wildly, hammering his head into the turf. His tail whipped about, smashing anyone and anything it struck. Panic-stricken, the raiders fled their master’s agony, riding away pell-mell to escape.

  Zannian and Nacris fled too, pausing on a nearby hilltop to watch Sthenn’s torment.

  Hoten joined them. Like his chief, the elder raider looked down on the green dragon’s display with an unsympathetic eye.

  “So the Master lost a hand?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Zannian answered. “It’ll grow back, in time.”

  Hoten watched the scattering raider host and sighed. “It’ll take time to get the men back together.”

  “Don’t even bother until the Master finishes his fit,” Nacris put in.

  “How long will that take?”

  Nacris leaned forward tiredly, resting her head on Zannian’s back. “Until he’s done.”

  *

  Several leagues away, Duranix halted in his tracks. He was walking rather than flying to avoid giving away their position to the raiders. When Amero noticed the dragon wasn’t at their heels, he doubled back.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Tiphan is dead.”

  Amero pulled up short. “How do you know? Can you hear his thoughts, too?”

  “He was too weak-minded for that.” Duranix waved a claw in the air as if shooing a pesky insect. “I heard something though, like many voices whispering of his death.”

  Amero tried to feel sorry for Tiphan, but he could generate little sympathy for his foolish, headstrong rival. However, his heart was heavy, thinking of the beguiled young people who had died with their Tosen. He hurried on. With the Sensarku gone, there was nothing standing between them and the raiders.

  Duranix followed more slowly, looking back in the direction of the Sensarku’s last stand. Whatever his motives, Tiphan had healed Duranix and given his life to save the dragon and the others. No human had ever done such a thing for a dragon before.

  Chapter 18

  The sweetest sight Amero could imagine appeared: the walls of Yala-tene. He stood at the foot of the bridge that bore his name, a lump growing in his throat. They had come through.

  His people had passed an uncertain night in a hasty defensive camp. Strangely, no raiders had attacked them. The peaceful night made Paharo and the others wonder if the Sensarku had succeeded and defeated the raiders after all. Duranix quickly quashed their hopes. It was possible Tiphan had delayed the raiders, he said, but he would know if Sthenn had been killed.

  The orchard was in full bloom, and drifts of white and pink blossoms greeted Duranix and the weary humans as they crossed the bridge into the valley proper. The billowing petals lent an unreal air to their crossing, for these were from Tiphan’s enchanted trees, already twice as big as was natural for this time of year. If their growing continued, the villagers could be harvesting fruit well before the summer was over.

  Jenla and the planters were working in the orchard and saw the lofty striding figure of Duranix before they spied Amero and the others. They came running, shouting cries of welcome. Though happy to be home, Amero had dismal news for them.

  “The raiders may yet be coming,” he told the gathering of gardeners. “We must make ready to resist their attack. This Zannian leads a host of fifty score warriors and has the help of a vicious green dragon.”

  “What of Tiphan and the Sensarku?” someone asked.

  Grim silence revealed their fate more clearly than any words. Jenla shook her head, saying, “Pride was his undoing. Others may weep for him, but I can’t.”

  Though Amero agreed with her, he knew of at least one person who would grieve. “I must tell Konza about this,” he said.

  It was Jenla’s turn to reveal bad news. “Tiphan told us his father had gone east, seeking more of the spirit stones, but no one saw him leave,” she explained. “Trackers combed the upper passes, but they found no sign Konza had been through. I think Tiphan silenced his father, so the old man wouldn’t try to stop the ill-fated expedition.”

  “Murder?” said Beramun, wide-eyed.

  Jenla said no more, and the word hung in the air.

  “We’ll puzzle that out later,” Amero told them. “We must get our defenses ready.”

  “At least we have our Protector back,” said Tepa, taking in the dragon’s larger size. Duranix said nothing, his gaze still fixed on the western peaks.

  The gardeners followed Amero’s little band back to town. Horns blew in a loud, flat chorus. Children lined the tops of the walls, and the elders trooped out to greet them.

  Amero was pleased to see Udi, Tepa’s son, among the villagers. He had arrived in Yala-tene after Tiphan’s group had departed.

  Duranix boosted Amero atop the lower wall. From there he addressed his people.

  “Friends,” he said, “I’m glad to be back with Duranix and the brave scouts who came to find us. I grieve the loss of all the Sensarku.” He could not bring himself to mention Tiphan’s name. “Sad though I am, there’s no time for mourning. The threat from the raiders is grave. There are fifty score of them, led by a green dragon.”

  Shocked silence greeted this announcement.

  Nubis the stockman was the first to find his tongue. “When will they get here?”

  “I don’t know, but we must make ready immediately. From this moment on, Yala-tene must become a war camp. Every villager over the age of fifteen will carry a spear at all times. Children will gather food and fodder for the animals. Every baffle must be sealed. By this time tomorrow, I want Yala-tene closed up tight and ready to fight!”

  No one cheered, but no one objected either. Amero named his foundry master Huru as his second-in-command. Hulami the vintner was to take charge of the supplies of food and water. Montu and other craftsmen were to make weapons.

  When he’d finished, Amero turned to Duranix and asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

  The dragon’s head now rode well above the top of the wall, He surveyed the villagers clustered around him for a moment, then said, “Remember this – the raiders are not coming to steal your cattle, burn your homes, or carry off your women, though they will do all those things if they get the chance. They come at the will of Sthenn, who wants nothing less than the total destruction of Yala-tene.”

  Few villagers dared ask questions of
the bronze dragon. Jenla did.

  “Why do they want to destroy us?” she said. “We’ve never done them any harm.”

  “You exist. That is cause enough,” Duranix told her. This plainly did not satisfy her, so he elaborated. “Sthenn is a creature of corruption and chaos. He despises order in any form and hates any authority but his own whims. This village is an affront to his ideas and a threat to his desire to rule the plains as he does his native forest. You cannot bargain with him. You cannot buy him off. Your only hope is to fight. If you can defeat his horde, I will deal with him.”

  Jenla nodded. “Let what the Protector says be done,” she said.

  “Arkuden, about the baffles —” Paharo began.

  “I know.” Amero looked up at Duranix. “Can you bring boulders from the cliff and use them to block the entrances?”

  Hungry and depleted from his long crawl across the plain, Duranix nonetheless agreed. There was no choice. No one else in Yala-tene could move enough stone in so short a time.

  The villagers scattered to their tasks. Hulami marshaled the very old and the very young to gather food and water for people and beasts alike. Paharo remained behind after the villagers dispersed.

  “Arkuden?” he said. “A word, please? I have an idea.”

  Amero took the young hunter aside, and they conversed in low tones. Amero listened attentively, nodding in agreement with what Paharo was saying.

  “Do it,” the Arkuden said at last. “Take whoever you need, but no more than thirty all told. I can’t weaken our defenses by more than that.”

  Paharo went through the village, tapping young men and women to join him. He picked fleet, able hunters every one, none over the age of twenty. Bringing this band back to Amero, he announced his final selection: Beramun. She was still by the Arkuden’s side.

  “Not her, Paharo,” Amero said quickly.

  “Why not?” she protested.

  “You don’t even know what you’ve been chosen for!”

  “I don’t care what the task is, so long as I get to fight Zannian!”