Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  “If he were not a follower of Takhisis, then he would be a follower of Paladine. If not Paladine, then one of the other gods or goddesses. Nothing changes.” The Decider folded his arms across his chest, shook his head. “I repeat, they will be back. For the glory of their queen, if nothing else.”

  “They spoke of war, Decider, of invading Ansalon.” This came from the male watcher. “Surely that will occupy them for many years.”

  “Ah, there, you see?” The Decider looked triumphantly around at the assembly. “War. Again war. Always war. The reason we left Ansalon. I had hoped that here, at least, we would be safe, immune.” He sighed deeply. “Apparently not.”

  “What should we do?”

  The Irda, standing apart, separate from each other, looked questioningly at each other.

  “We could leave this island, travel to another, where we would be safe,” suggested one.

  “We left Ansalon, traveled to this island,” said the Decider. “We are not safe here. We will not be safe anywhere.”

  “If they come back, we’ll fight them, drive them away,” said one of the Irda—a very young Irda, newly arrived at the Year of Oneness. “I know that we’ve never, in our entire history, shed the blood of another race. That we’ve hidden ourselves away in order to avoid killing. But we have the right to defend ourselves. Every person in the world has that right.”

  The other, more mature, Irda were regarding the young woman with the looks of elaborate patience adults of every species adopt when the young make statements embarrassing to their elders.

  And so they were considerably astonished when the Decider said, “Yes, Avril, you are correct. We do have the right to defend ourselves. We have the right to live the lives we choose to live in peace. And I say we should defend that right.”

  In their shock, several of the Irda spoke simultaneously. “You are not suggesting that we fight the humans, are you, Decider?”

  “No,” he returned. “I am not. Of course, I am not. But neither am I suggesting that we pack up our possessions and leave our homes. Is that what you want?”

  One spoke, a man known as the Protector, who had occasionally disagreed with the Decider and had occasionally made his disagreement known. He was, consequently, not a great favorite with the Decider, who frowned when the Protector started to speak.

  “Of all the places we have lived, this is the most congenial, the most lovely, the best suited to us. Here we are together, yet apart. Here we can help each other when there is need, yet remain in solitude. It will be hard to leave this island. Yet … it doesn’t seem the same now. I say we should move.”

  The Protector gestured to the neat, snug houses surrounded by hedgerows and lovingly tended flower gardens. The other Irda knew what he meant. The houses were the same, unchanged by the magic that had supplied the illusion of mud huts. The difference could not be seen, but it could be felt, heard, tasted, and smelled. The birds, normally talkative and filled with song, were silent, afraid. The wild animals, who roamed freely among the Irda, had vanished back into their holes or up into the trees. The smell of steel and of blood was strong on the air.

  Innocence and peace had been ravaged. The wounds would heal, the scars disappear, but the memory would remain. And now the Decider was suggesting that they defend this homeland! The very thought was appalling. The idea of moving was catching hold, gaining supporters.

  The Decider saw that he had to swing around, take another tack.

  “I am not suggesting we go to war,” he said, his tone now gentle, soothing. “Violence is not our way. I have long studied the problem. I foresaw disaster coming. I have just returned from a trip to the continent of Ansalon. Let me tell you what I have discovered.”

  The other Irda stared at their Decider in amazement. So isolated were they—one from the other—that no one realized their leader had even been gone, much less that he had risked walking among outsiders.

  The Decider’s face grew grave and sorrowful. “Our magic-blessed vessel took me to the human city of Palanthas. I walked its streets, listened to the people talk. I traveled thence to the stronghold of the Solamnic Knights, from there to the seafaring nations of Ergoth. I passed into Qualinesti, the land of the elves. I entered the gates of Thorbardin, realm of the dwarves. Invisible as the wind, I slipped over the borders of the cursed elven land of Silvanesti, walked the Plains of Dust, spent time in Solace, Kendermore, and Flotsam. Finally, I looked upon the Blood Sea of Istar and, from there, passed near Storm’s Keep, from whence came these same dark knights.

  “Over twenty-five years—in human time—has passed since the War of the Lance. The people of Ansalon hoped for peace, hope that was in vain, as we could have told them. As long as the gods war among themselves, their battles will spill over onto the mortal plane. With these dark knights to fight for her, Queen Takhisis is more powerful than ever.

  “Their lord, Ariakan, son of Highlord Ariakus, had the nerve and the temerity to point out to the Dark Queen wherein her weakness lay. ‘Evil turns in upon itself.’ The War of the Lance was lost due to the greed and selfishness of the Dark Queen’s commanders. Ariakan, a prisoner of the Knights of Solamnia during and after the war, realized that the Solamnic Knights had achieved victory through their willingness to make sacrifices for the cause—sacrifices that were epitomized in the death of the knight Sturm Brightblade.

  “Ariakan put his ideas into practice and has now created an army of men and women committed body and soul to the Dark Queen and, more importantly, to conquering the world in her name. They will give up anything—wealth, power, their own lives—to achieve victory. They are bound in honor and in blood to each other. They are an indomitable foe, particularly since Ansalon is, once again, divided against itself.

  “The elves are at war with each other. Qualinesti has a new ruler, a boy, the son of Tanis Half-Elven and the daughter of the late Speaker of the Sun, Laurana. The boy was first tricked and then constrained into accepting the role of king. He is, in reality, little more than a puppet, whose strings are being pulled by some of the old order of elves, isolationists who hate everyone different from themselves. That includes their Silvanesti cousins.

  “And because these elves have grown in power, the dwarves of Thorbardin fear attack and are considering sealing shut their mountain once again. The Knights of Solamnia are building their defenses—not in fear of the dark knights, but in fear of the elves. Paladine’s Knights have been warned against the dark paladins of evil, but they refuse to believe that the tiger could have altered his stripes, as the saying goes. The Solamnics still believe that evil will turn upon itself, as it did in the War of the Lance, when Dragon Highlord Kitiara ended up battling her own commander, Highlord Ariakus, while the black-robed wizard Raistlin Majere betrayed them both. That will not happen this time.

  “The balance is once again shifting in the Dark Queen’s favor. But this time, my friends”—the Decider gazed around at his people, his eyes going to each in turn, gathering them all in “—this time, it is my belief that Queen Takhisis will win.”

  “But what of Paladine? What of Mishakal? We pray to them now as we have done in the past. They protect us.” The Protector spoke, but many others were nodding in agreement.

  “Did Paladine protect us from the evil knights?” asked the Decider in stern tones. “No. He permitted them to land on our coast.”

  “They did us no harm,” the Protector pointed out.

  “Yet,” the Decider said ominously, “the gods of good, on whose protection we have so long relied, can do little for us. This terrible incident has proven that. Our magic, their magic, has failed us. It is time we rely on something more powerful.”

  “You obviously have some idea. Tell us,” the Protector said, his voice grim.

  “My idea is this: That we use one of the world’s most powerful magical artifacts to shield us—once and for all—from outsiders. You know the name of the artifact to which I am referring—the Graygem of Gargath.”

  “
The Graygem is not ours,” the Protector said sternly. “It does not belong to us. It belongs to the peoples of the world.”

  “Not anymore,” the Decider stated. “We were the ones who sought out this artifact. We found it. We acquired it and brought it here for safekeeping.”

  “We stole it,” the Protector said. “From a simpleminded fisherman who found it washed up on the shore, who took it to his house and kept it for its sparkling facets and the delight he took in showing it off to his neighbors. He made no use of it, knew nothing of its magic, cared nothing for its magic. And so, the Graygem could make no use of him. Perhaps he was intended to be its keeper. Perhaps, in taking it from him, we have unwittingly thwarted the plans of the gods. Perhaps that is why they have ceased to protect us.”

  “Some might call what we did theft.” The Decider stared very hard at the Protector. “But I say that, in recovering the Graygem, we did the world a favor. This artifact has long been a problem, wreaking havoc wherever it goes. It would have fled the simpleton as it has fled so many others before it. But now it is bound by our magic. By holding it here, under our control, we are benefitting all of mankind.”

  “You told us, as I recall, Decider, that the Graygem’s magic would protect us from incursion from the outside world. That is not, apparently, the case,” the Protector said. “How can you say now that its magic will shield us?”

  “I have spent long years studying the Graygem and have recently made an important discovery,” the Decider answered. “The force that propels the Graygem, causes it to roam the world, is not peculiar to the stone itself, but is, I believe, hidden inside the stone. The stone is only a container—a vessel—which holds and constrains the power within. This magical force, once released, will undoubtedly prove to be immensely powerful. I propose to the assembly that we crack open the Graygem, release the force within, and use it to protect our homeland.”

  The Irda were clearly unhappy. They did not like to take action of any kind, preferring to spend their lives in meditation and study. To take such drastic action was almost unthinkable! Yet, they had only to look around them to see the damage done to their beloved homeland, their last refuge from the world.

  The Protector ventured a final protest. “If there is a force trapped inside the Graygem, it must, as you say, be very powerful. Are you certain we can control it?”

  “We are able to control the Graygem itself quite easily now. I see no difficulty in our controlling this power and using it to defend ourselves.”

  “But how can you be sure you’re controlling the Graygem? Perhaps the Graygem’s controlling you, Decider!”

  A voice—harsher than the musical tones of the Irda—came from somewhere behind the Protector. The Irda all turned their heads in the voice’s direction, drew back so that the speaker could be seen. It was a young woman, a human woman of indeterminate age, somewhere between eighteen to twenty-five human years. The young woman was, to the eyes of the Irda, an extraordinarily ugly creature. Despite her homely looks—or maybe because of them—the Irda cherished the young woman, doted on her, spoiled her. They had done so for years, ever since she had come—an orphaned infant—to live among them.

  Few Irda would have dared make such an impertinent statement to the Decider. The young human should know better. All eyes turned disapprovingly to the Irda who had been placed in charge of the human—the man known, for that very reason, as the Protector.

  He appeared considerably embarrassed, was speaking to the young woman, apparently endeavoring to convince her to return to their house.

  The Decider assumed an expression of extreme patience. “I’m not certain what you mean, Usha, my child. Perhaps you could explain yourself.”

  The young woman appeared pleased at being the center of so much attention. She shrugged free of the Protector’s gently restraining hand, strode forward until she stood in the center of the circle of Irda.

  “How do you know the Graygem isn’t controlling you? If it was, it wouldn’t be likely to tell you, now, would it?” Usha glanced around, proud of her argument.

  The Decider conceded this argument, praised the human’s cleverness, and carefully kept from smiling. The idea was, of course, ludicrous, but then the girl was human after all.

  “The Graygem has been quite submissive since taken into our presence,” he said. “It rests on the altar we constructed for it, barely even glimmers. I doubt if it is controlling us, Child. You need have no worries along that line.”

  No other race on Krynn was as powerful in magic as the Irda. Even the gods—so some of the Irda, the Decider among them, had been known to whisper—were not as powerful. The god Reorx had lost the gem. It was the Irda who had discovered it, taken it, and now held it. The Irda knew the stories of the Graygem’s past, how it had spread chaos and havoc wherever it went throughout the world. The Graygem was, so legend had it, responsible for the creation of the races of kender, gnomes, and dwarves. But that was before the Irda had been in charge of the gem. It had been in the care of humans. What could you expect?

  The meeting continued, the Irda trying every way possible to wriggle out of this situation without resorting to any sort of drastic action.

  Usha soon grew bored—as humans easily do—and told her Protector she was going back to their house to fix dinner. He looked relieved.

  Walking away from the meeting, Usha was inclined, at first, to be angry. Her notion was a good one, had been dismissed all too quickly. But being angry took a lot of energy and concentration. She had other matters on her mind. She walked into the wilderness, but not to gather herbs for the evening meal.

  She walked instead to the beach. When she reached the shoreline, she stood staring down, fascinated, at the footprints left in the sand by the two young knights. Kneeling down, she rested her hand in one of the prints. It was much bigger than her small hand. The knights had been taller, bigger than she. Picturing them in her mind, a pleasurable and confusing tingle coursed through her body. It was the first time she’d ever seen another human, a human male.

  They were ugly, certainly, compared to the Irda, but not as ugly as all that.…

  Usha remained on the beach, dreaming, a long, long time.

  The Irda reached a decision, decided to leave the matter of the Graygem in the hands of the Decider. He would know how best to handle this situation. Whatever he determined needed to be done would be done. This concluded, they returned to their dwellings, anxious to be alone, to put all this unpleasantness behind them.

  The Decider did not return immediately to his dwelling. He summoned three of the eldest of the Irda, drew them apart for a private discussion.

  “I did not bring this matter up publicly,” the Decider said, speaking softly, “because I knew the pain it would cause our people. But there is one more action we must take in order to ensure our safety. We are immune to the temptations generated by the Graygem, but there is one living among us who is not. You all know of whom I speak.”

  The others—by their dismayed and forlorn expressions—knew.

  The Decider continued. “It grieves me to have to make this decision, but we must cast this person out. You all saw and heard Usha today. Because of her human blood, she is in danger from the Graygem.”

  “We don’t know that for certain.” One ventured a meek protest.

  “We know the stories,” the Decider said sharply. “I investigated and discovered them to be true. The Graygem corrupts all humans who come near it, filling them with longings and desires they cannot control. The sons of the war hero Caramon Majere nearly fell victim to it, according to one report. The god Reorx himself had to intervene to save them. The Graygem may have already seized on Usha and is trying to use her to cause dissension among us. Therefore, to ensure her safety as well as ours, Usha must be sent away.”

  “But we’ve raised her since she was a baby,” another of the elders protested. “This is the only home she has ever known!”

  “Usha is old enough now to live on her own
, among her own kind.” The Decider relaxed his stern tone. “We have commented before on the fact that she is growing restless and bored among us. Our studious, contemplative life is not for her. As do all humans, she requires change in order to grow. We are stifling her. This separation will be as much to her advantage as our own.”

  “It will be hard, giving her up.” One of the elders wiped away a tear, and the Irda do not easily cry. “Especially for the Protector. He dotes on the child.”

  “I know,” said the Decider gently. “It seems cruel, but the swifter we act, the better it will be for all of us, including the Protector. Are we all agreed?”

  The Decider’s wisdom was honored. He went to tell the Protector. The other Irda hurried back to their separate homes.

  3

  Farewells.

  The protector’s parting gift.

  eave?” Usha stared blankly at the man she had always known as Protector. “Leave the island? When?”

  “Tomorrow, Child,” said the Protector. He was already going about the small house they shared, gathering up Usha’s things, placing them on the bed, preparatory to packing them. “A boat is being readied for you. You are an adept sailor. The boat is magically enhanced. It will not overturn, no matter how rough the seas. If the wind quits, the boat will never lie becalmed, but will sail on, sped by the current of our thoughts. It will carry you safely across the ocean to the human city of Palanthas, which lies almost due south of us. A journey of twelve hours, no more.”

  “Palanthas …” Usha repeated, not truly comprehending, not even knowing what she was saying.

  The Protector nodded. “Of all the cities on Ansalon, I think you will find Palanthas most suitable. The population is large and varied. The Palanthians have a greater tolerance for cultures other than their own. Oddly enough, this is probably due to the presence of the Tower of High Sorcery and its master, Lord Dalamar. Though a mage of the Order of Black Robes, he is respectful of the—”