Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  “No, it doesn’t,” Usha returned. Her head was beginning to throb her tongue was dry and felt thick and fuzzy. She didn’t like this place anymore, didn’t like the black-robed mage. She’d done her errand. It was time to leave. “It’s just a story about a rock. I don’t know why Prot thought it was important.” Gathering up her pouches, she rose—somewhat unsteadily—to her feet. “And now, since I’ve delivered the letter, I’ll be going. Thanks for the meal—”

  She stopped. Jenna’s hand rested on her shoulder.

  “There’s no way out,” said Dalamar, tapping himself on the lips with the rolled-up scroll, “unless I provide it. Please, sit down, Usha. You are my guest for a time. You and the kender. There, that’s better. Now,” he continued in a pleasant, dangerous tone, “tell me about your parents.”

  “I don’t know anything,” Usha said, alarmed, wary. “Not really. I was an orphan. The Irda took me in, raised me from the time I was a baby.”

  Jenna seated herself on the arm of Dalamar’s chair.

  “They must have told you something else.”

  “They didn’t,” Usha hedged. “But I managed to find out some on my own. Have you ever heard of the Valum?”

  “Valin,” corrected Tasslehoff. Curiosity and sleep were waging a battle for him. Yawning, he pinched himself to stay awake. “The word is Valin …”

  “I know that,” Usha snapped, casting the kender a swift, baleful glance. Smiling limpidly, she turned back to Dalamar. “Valin, of course. It must be the cider, makes me mispronounce things.”

  Dalamar said nothing, squeezed Jenna’s hand when she would have spoken.

  “Anyway,” Usha went on, “one night, when I was supposed to be in bed, I heard someone come into our house. Irda almost never have company and so I crept from my bed to see who it was. The visitor was a man the Irda call the Decider. He and Prot were talking and they were talking about me! So, of course, I listened.

  “They said lots of things I didn’t understand—about the Valin and how my mother had been an Irda who’d left her people and gone into the world. How she met a young magic-user in a tavern in an enchanted forest. She was accosted by some thugs in this tavern and the mage and his older brother—”

  “Twin brother,” Tasslehoff said, but the words were lost in a prodigious yawn.

  “—and the mage saw my mother’s face and thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. And she looked at him and the Valin happened between them and—”

  “Explain the Valin,” Dalamar said quietly.

  Usha frowned. “You said you knew what it was.”

  “No,” Dalamar protested mildly. “You said I knew what it was.”

  “I know what it is!” cried Tas, sitting bolt upright and waving his hand in the air. “Let me tell!”

  “Thank you, Burrfoot,” said Dalamar coldly. “But I would prefer to hear the Irda side of the story.”

  “Well … the Valin is … something that happens … between a man and a woman,” Usha began, her cheeks flushing crimson. “It … er … brings them together. I guess that’s what it does.” She shrugged again. “Prot never told me much about it, except to say that it wouldn’t happen to me.”

  “And why not?” Dalamar asked softly.

  “Because I’m part human,” Usha answered him.

  “Indeed? And who is your father?”

  “The young magic-user in the story,” Usha said offhandedly. “His name is Raistlin. Raistlin Majere.”

  “Told you so,” said Tasslehoff.

  Dalamar pursed his lips, tapped them with the edge of the scroll. He stared at Usha so long, in silence, that she grew nervous, uneasy, tried to shift away from the gaze of the fathomless eyes. At length, the dark elf rose abruptly, walked over to the table. Usha gave a sigh of relief, as if she’d just been released again from her prison cell.

  “This is very fine wine,” Dalamar said, reaching for the carafe. “You should try some. Mistress Jenna, will you help me serve our guests?”

  “What is it?” Jenna asked in a low voice. “What’s the matter?”

  Dalamar poured the golden wine into crystal glasses. “I don’t believe her,” he said in a low voice. “She’s lying.”

  “What did you say?” Tasslehoff asked loudly, shoving his head between the two of them. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

  Irritably, Jenna reached into a pouch on her belt, drew forth a handful of sand, and tossed it into the kender’s face. “Drowshi,” she commanded.

  “Ah-choo!” Tas sneezed and, almost before the sneeze was completely out, he sighed contently, slumped forward onto the table, and was fast asleep.

  “That story of hers. I don’t believe it,” Dalamar repeated. “She got it from the kender. It was a mistake, leaving the two of them together.”

  “But the gold eyes—”

  “Possibly every single Irda born has gold eyes,” Dalamar returned. “How would we know? I’ve never seen one. Have you?”

  “Don’t be snippy, dear,” Jenna said spiritedly. “Of course, I’ve never seen one. No one on Ansalon has. What does the letter say?”

  Dalamar, in a bad humor, slid the black ribbon off the scroll, unrolled it, glanced through it hurriedly. He snorted. “It appears to be the story of the creation of the world. No, my dear, we’re not likely to find our answer here.”

  He flung the letter down on the table where Tasslehoff lay, snoring softly. Grains of sand clung to his graying topknot.

  Dalamar brushed sand off the lace tablecloth. “There might be a way yet to find out the truth.”

  “See if she has the talent,” Jenna suggested, guessing his thought. She picked up the letter, began reading it more carefully. “You do that; I’ll go through this. There must be something important in it, for the Irda to have sent it to you.”

  Dalamar returned to Usha, who was now curled up in the chair, her head resting on the arm, more than half asleep.

  Dalamar shook her by the shoulder.

  “Huh? Waddya want? Leave me alone.” Usha squirmed around, attempted to hide her face in the cushions.

  Dalamar tightened his grip.

  “Ow!” Usha sat up, glared at him. “That hurts.”

  Slowly, Dalamar released her. “If you are the daughter of Raistlin Majere—”

  “I am,” Usha said with haughty dignity.

  “—then you must have inherited some of his skills in the art.”

  “What art?” Usha was suspicious.

  “The arcane art. Magic. Raistlin was one of the most powerful wizards ever to have walked on Ansalon. Magical talent is generally hereditary. Raistlin’s nephew, Palin Majere, has inherited a great deal of his uncle’s skill. Raistlin’s daughter must surely possess great power …”

  “Oh, I do,” Usha said, lounging among the cushions.

  “Then you won’t mind demonstrating your talent for Mistress Jenna and myself.”

  “I would,” Usha said, “but I’m not permitted. The Irda warned me, you see. I’m too powerful.” She glanced around. “I’d hate to wreck this nice room.”

  “I’ll risk it,” Dalamar said dryly.

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly,” Usha returned, wide-eyed, innocent. “Prot warned me never—”

  “Great Lunitari!” Jenna drew in her breath sharply. “Blessed goddess of the red moon. If this is true—”

  Dalamar turned. “If what is true?”

  Jenna held out the letter. “You didn’t read far enough, my love. Go to the very bottom.”

  Dalamar read swiftly, looked up.

  “The Irda have the Graygem,” Jenna said.

  “They claim to …” Dalamar mused. “What do you know of this, girl?” he demanded, rounding on Usha.

  Fully awake, Usha gazed at him perplexed.

  “What do I know about what?”

  Dalamar was like a snake dozing in the bright, hot sun. His soft voice, with its hissing elven lisp, was soothing and deceiving. He charmed his prey with elegant man
ners and his delicate beauty and, when they were completely in his thrall, he would devour them.

  “Don’t play stupid!” He uncoiled, glided toward her. “What do you know about the Graygem? And this time, Mistress, spare me your lies …”

  Usha swallowed, licked her lips. “I wasn’t lying,” she managed in a small voice. “And I don’t know anything about the Graygem. I only saw it once—”

  “What does it look like?”

  “It was a gray … gem …” she began.

  Dalamar’s feathery black eyebrows came together in displeasure. The almond eyes glittered.

  Usha gulped, went on hurriedly. “It had lots of facets, more than I could count. And it gave off a sickening sort of gray glow. I didn’t like to look at it. It made me feel funny inside, as if I wanted to run off and do crazy things that didn’t make any sense. Prot said that was the way the stone affected humans …”

  “And the Irda intend to break open the stone?” Dalamar’s voice was taut.

  “Yes,” Usha said, shrinking away from his terrible intensity, huddling back into the cushions of the chair. “That was why they sent me away. The Decider said, because I was human … part human,” she corrected herself, “I would interfere with the magic …”

  “What if they have cracked the Graygem?” Jenna asked. “What would that mean?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt if anyone does, maybe not even the gods themselves.” Dalamar fixed his devouring gaze on Usha. “Do you know what happened? Did you see anything before you left?”

  “Nothing,” Usha said. “Except … a red glow in the sky. Like a fire. I … I suppose it was the magic …”

  Dalamar said nothing more, paid no more attention to Usha. She was careful to keep her mouth shut, burrowed down into the cushions, hoping to escape further notice. The dark elf paced the room several times. Jenna watched him, worried and anxious. Tasslehoff slumbered fitfully, twitching and whiffling. At length, Dalamar made up his mind.

  “I will call the Conclave together. This coming day. We must leave for Wayreth at once.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That I don’t like this,” Dalamar said grimly. “The strange weather, the terrible heat, the unusual drought, other odd happenings. This may be the answer.”

  “What will you do with the girl and the kender? Take them with us?”

  “No. She’s told us all she knows. If word got out among the Conclave that Raistlin’s daughter was loose on Ansalon, it would cause an uproar. We’d get nothing accomplished. Best to keep her here, safe and quiet. The kender, too. He is friends with Caramon Majere, might carry the tale to him.”

  He and Jenna started for the door.

  “Wait!” Usha cried, jumping to her feet. “You can’t leave me here! I won’t stay! I’ll scream! Someone will hear me—”

  Jenna turned, tossed a handful of sand over Usha. The young woman blinked, rubbed her eyes, shook her head groggily.

  “I won’t stay, I tell you—”

  “She’s resisting the magic,” Jenna observed. “Interesting. I wonder if she’s doing that herself, or if she’s been given a charm—”

  “Whatever the case we have no time for that now.”

  Dalamar snapped his fingers. Usha swayed on her feet, collapsed back among the cushions. Her eyes closed.

  A door opened onto a spiral staircase that wound around the interior walls of the Tower of High Sorcery. The narrow stone stairs led upward, to the laboratory, where no one—not even the Tower’s master—walked. The stairs led down to rooms where the apprentices lived and studied, down farther still to the Chamber of Seeing. Shutting the door, Dalamar locked it with a silver key.

  “That won’t stop the kender,” Jenna remarked. “And the sleep spell will wear off before we are likely to return.”

  “True, the lock might not stop him, but this will.” Dalamar spoke words in a cold, spidery language.

  At Dalamar’s command, two white, disembodied eyes materialized in the darkness of the Tower’s interior, a darkness that had never known even dreams of light.

  The specter moved near Dalamar. “You summoned me, Master. What is your command?”

  “Keep watch on this room. Allow no one to go in or out. If the two inside try, don’t harm them. Merely prevent them from escaping.”

  “That makes my task more difficult,” said the specter. “But I obey your command, Master.”

  Dalamar began to speak the words of the spell that would take them along the roads of magic to the distant Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. Jenna did not immediately join him. She stood staring at the door, at the specter posting ceaseless watch.

  Dalamar interrupted his spell casting.

  “Come along,” he said, annoyed. “We have no time to waste.”

  “What if she is telling the truth?” Jenna asked softly. “She might be powerful enough to escape even the specter.”

  “She wasn’t powerful enough to avoid getting caught stealing food,” Dalamar returned irritably. “Either she’s exceptionally cunning or she’s a lying little fool.”

  “Why would she lie? What can she hope to gain by pretending to be a wizardess? Surely she would know that we would know the truth.”

  “But we don’t, do we?” Dalamar said. “The Irda are clever, their magic powerful. Who knows what they have in mind? Perhaps they sent her as a spy, and they knew the only way she would get in was by pretending to be what she is not. I will find out when I have time to speak to her further. It is my opinion that she is lying, that she is no more powerful in magic than the kender. Still, if you don’t trust my judgment—”

  “I do, my love, I do,” Jenna said, hastening to stand at his side. She tilted her head back to be kissed. “It’s other parts of you I don’t trust.”

  Dalamar obligingly kissed her, though it was obvious his mind was on other, more urgent, matters. “I am always faithful to you, my dear. In my own way.”

  “Yes,” said Jenna, with a small sigh. “In your own way. I know.”

  Hands entwined, they spoke the spell together and stepped into the darkness.

  Locked in the Tower room, Usha and Tasslehoff slept under the enchantment. Usha dreamed dreams tinged with fire, dreams that frightened her, but from which she could not awake.

  Tasslehoff dreamed kender dreams, which meant that though he was still asleep, his hands were busy. His fingers closed over the handle of the silver spoon and, still dreaming, he slid the spoon into his pouch.

  “I guess you must have dropped it,” he murmured.

  13

  The siege of kalaman.

  t was early morning in Kalaman, a bustling port city on the northern coastline, east of Palanthas. Kalaman was not as large as Palanthas, not as refined, but—as the Kalamites liked to boast—the city had more common sense. This was due undoubtedly to the burgeoning middle class, which had grown in power and wealth since the dark days of the War of the Lance. Palanthas was a city of lords and ladies, knights and mages. Kalaman was a city of tradesmen and craftsmen. The guild ruled in Kalaman, overseen by a governor elected by guild members.

  Any man or woman, elf, human, dwarf, or gnome who owned a business belonged to a guild. There were the Silversmiths’ Guild, the Swordmakers’ Guild, the Innkeepers’ Guild, the Ale-brewers’ Guild, the Seamstresses’ Guild, the Tailors’ Guild, the Shoemakers’ Guild, the Jewelcutters’ Guild, and a hundred more, including the one guild in all of Ansalon run by kender—the Finders’ Guild. Anyone who lost anything in Kalaman went immediately to the Finders’ Guild.

  The city had its own militia, made up of a mixture of hired mercenaries and townspeople, under the leadership of veteran soldiers. The mercenaries were not the usual brawling adventurers, willing to help you fight goblins for the price of a wineskin, just as willing to help the goblins fight you for the same amount. All mercenaries hired to fight for Kalaman were given a house in the city proper as part of their payment. They had their own guild and had voting privileges. Thus the
mercenaries who accepted this deal were soon transformed into citizens who had a stake in the city and would be more than willing to fight for it.

  The Kalaman militia was loyal, adequately trained, and about as brave as could be expected. Against what was coming, they didn’t stand a chance.

  The morning sun glared over the eastern wall. Roosters greeted it; most citizens were still in bed. The harbor watchmen, ready to be relieved, yawned and thought longingly of their beds.

  “Ship on the horizon,” said one. “Anything due in this hour?”

  The other consulted the log. “Could be the Lady Jane out of Flotsam. She sent word that she was coming in to pick up that load of grain, but, if so, she’s early. We weren’t expecting her until midday at least.”

  “Must have had a fair wind,” said the other. He turned away to see if his replacement was coming up the boardwalk. When he turned back, he blinked, stared. A second sail suddenly showed on the horizon. “That’s odd. There’s another ship. And another after that.”

  Concern altered his tone. “By Hiddukel, it’s a fleet! Hand me that spy glass!”

  The watchman handed over the spy glass and found one for himself.

  “Four, five, and six,” said the watchman, awed, counting. “Black ships, with dragon-head prows. I’ve never seen the like. What flag do they fly?”

  “None at the moment.” The man was uneasy. “I don’t like this. I think we should sound the alarm.”

  “Wait until we’re certain. Seven, eight.”

  The ships with their tall sails glided over the smooth sea, which was stained red with the fire of the sunrise. The wind favored the ships, that day; they had all sails set and were making good time.

  “Look! The lead ship’s unfurled their pennant—a skull and a death lily. Sound the alarm. I’ll send Hayes to report to the governor.”

  The clang of the harbor bell rang out over the water, echoed among the buildings on the sea wall, woke those people with homes near the harbor. The alarm was picked up by other bells in the city, bells that hung in the guild halls, bells that hung in the temples devoted to the various gods of Krynn. The governor, roused from his bed, came racing down to the harbor, tucking his shirttail into his trousers as he ran.