Losing all sense of direction, the dragon fought to stand upright on the shifting mass of spinning wood. With a defiant roar it freed its massive wings and thrust upward with all its remaining strength, heaving itself through the roof of the mill. As shingles and support beams rained down, a solitary shriek signaled its flight into the night sky.
Syndar rushed down to Kirsk's prone body. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, and she was almost afraid to touch him. Moonlight revealed the blood trickling from his mouth, his lips twitching, struggling to draw air. Gathering Kirsk against her she listened for his next breath. More tears ran down her cheeks when she was rewarded with a rattling exhale.
But her joy was short-lived. A shadow obscured the moon- light, and she heard the sound of heavy wings returning. Eyes widening in horror, she looked up to see the roof buckle as a massive dragon settled onto the ruined structure, the remaining beams supporting the roof snapping and cracking in protest.
The monster shifted, allowing moonlight to creep back into the barn, as a scaled neck slithered into view, dropping down into the jagged opening. The dragon's head slid back into a massive hardened plate. Through her terror Syndar noted scales glinting in soft brassy tones, not blue. The wyrmling squawked loudly, scurrying toward the brass dragon.
Spying the wyrmling, the brass roared in what could only have been relief. When the dragon reached down with a huge talon, the excited baby crawled up the scaled limb.
Syndar clutched Kirsk tightly, waiting to die. The dragon's snout lowered farther into the opening, studying the youth amidst the ruins of the mill. Syndar felt her matted and tangled blond hair waft with each smoky breath from the brass, and she dared to look death in the face.
The dragon watched her for a long moment before withdrawing its head. Reaching with a clawed talon, it tore loose a gleaming scale from its underside that tumbled down, slicing into the hardened earth as it landed upright. A storm of dust swirled as the dragon launched itself into the air upon mighty wings. Threatening to collapse once more, the roof held, just.
Shaking, unable to cry, Syndar stroked Kirsk's brow. She stared at the dragon scale as the dust settled. In the stark calmness of that moment she noted its shape was deformed somehow, two leathery straps clinging to the inside of the scale. A scale that looked less and less the skin of an animal, and more and more like a magnificent shield.
Beccard Rellock ran toward the barn, ignoring the shouts and cries as most of the men in the lumber camp sprinted toward the wood mill. Followed by his wagon team, they each ran in a different direction after the horses that survived the vicious attack of the blue dragon. Beccard ran through the trees, praying aloud that he would not find what he most feared. He stopped short as a pair of gloved hands grabbed him in mid-stride, spinning him around to face two shadows emerging from the trees. One was a bearded human in dull chain mail with a pair of swords on his belt and an axe strapped to his back. The other was a slender but no less dangerous looking elf. Supple leather adorned his lithe form, and a longbow, arrow notched but not drawn, was ready in his hands.
Beccard's fear intensified, and he took a step backward, even as he realized he couldn't outrun the two strangers, for they were not part of the lumber camp.
The human ranger spoke first. "You made a mistake Rellock, a big mistake."
The elf spoke in a quiet voice, and even through the elegant words of the Elvish language, Beccard could sense the anger directed at him.
The bearded human nodded, never taking his eyes off Beccard, and said, "You know who we are Rellock, and you know what we do."
Beccard nodded, swallowing, realizing he might not actually die, but that his danger was still very real.
"Please, my son might be in there… I have to find him," Beccard pleaded as he pointed to the ruined barn.
The elf spoke again, and the ranger translated: "That wasn't a two-headed cat you bought, it was a life. A life just like yours, just like mine. You couldn't possibly believe you'd haul it all the way to Suzail or Waterdeep like some cheap animal that does tricks for food."
Beccard shook his head, frantically glancing in the direction of the barn, looking for any sign of movement. It was the lack of it that terrified him.
He turned back to the pair before him and said, "I know. That's why I came here. It's quiet, remote. I didn't think anyone would find me here. I needed time to decide where to go. I had seen-" he gestured to the elf-"his kind following, but once we reached the camp here, they disappeared. I didn't know who else to tell."
The elf made one final comment, looking to the sky then back to Beccard.
The bearded ranger said, "Someone did find you. Someone big, blue, and angry. Brass is the natural enemy of the blue. You're fortunate the mother came along when she did. Scared the blue off before he tore this encampment to pieces. If there are any dead here tonight, Rellock, their blood is on your hands."
Beccard nodded once more, his intent to run to the barn obvious. The ranger grabbed him once more.
"If you ever want to earn one of these the right way, you stop making selfish decisions, and start making selfless ones."
The ranger unfolded his tunic collar underneath his chain mail. For a moment he flashed a pin carved in the likeness of a crescent moon and a harp, each inlaid with a sparkling dust.
The pin was gone as quickly as it appeared, and the two Harpers did likewise. Beccard barely saw them disappear into the darkness before he scrambled back toward the barn.
Beccard lifted away splintered boards to find the body of his son. Scooping the young boy into his arms, he gasped when Nollo squinted one eye at him.
"By the gods, Nollo!"
Nollo murmured in reply, then stiffened.
Beccard whispered, "It's safe son. The big one flew away. It flew away."
Beccard was surprised when Nollo jumped to his feet, disregarding his cuts and bruises, looking around the barn. "Pap, the baby…"
Beccard hugged his son close, realizing what the entire journey had almost cost him.
"Gone, boy. It took it and flew away."
Hugging his father at first, Nollo pushed away suddenly and said, "Don't be mad, Pappy. I remembered!"
The young boy limped over to McDodd who was being helped to his feet by other men. Nimbly snatching the bully's purse, Nollo returned. Upending the purse he counted three copper coins.
"One for him," Nollo said as he pointed to Craster lying in a wagon, "and two for him!" He pointed to McDodd.
Beccard was too disoriented to ask questions, but Nollo smiled as he explained, "One each for a look, and one extra for him."
Nollo pointed back to McDodd.
Beccard asked the obvious: "Why one extra, Nollo?"
"Because, Pap! He's wyrm-touched!"
THE BOOK DRAGON
Jim Pitrat
Mid Hammer, the Year of Wild Magic (1372 DR)
The Red Wizard Nusair Darkul peered into the crystal globe before him. The visage of his master, Nevron, the Zulkir of Conjuration, stared back. The zulkir's ironlike face held a sneer that was old, angry, and as powerful from far away as it was in person. Nusair gulped down the knot in his throat that always seemed to accompany his late night meetings with the powerful conjurer. The zulkir had little use for the Guild of Foreign Trade, where he had assigned Nusair. In Nusair's opinion, it was an office designed for little more than to spy on Samas Kul, the guild's ambitious master. Nevron usually showed his contempt with short-tempered " tirades at Nusair. But that night, the zulkir paid close attention to what Nusair had to say. Nevron's angry voice boomed out from the globe, "What news have you of this discovery?"
"The Scalamagdrion lies closer to us than you might think, Master-merely across the Alamber, in Mulhorand," Nusair responded, keeping his tone as respectful as possible to head off any potential rant by the zulkir.
He had tracked the powerful book from its discovery in Myth Drannor, two hundred years past, all the way to where it had come to rest: in a collector's h
ome, deep in the capital of Thay's long-time enemy, Mulhorand. Nusair's contacts within the enclaves had located and tracked the artifact. In some small way he regretted letting the zulkir in on the discovery. But the opportunity to ingratiate himself to Nevron was too great a thing to resist. His recovery of The Scalamagdrion could mean the difference between wasting away as a mid-level bureaucrat in the guild for the rest of his life, and earning the favor of Nevron, one of the seven most powerful Red Wizards in Thay.
"Samas Kul?" the zulkir asked, no doubt wondering if Nusair had shared his secret with the hated guildmaster.
"He knows nothing," Nusair reassured his true master. If Samas Kul knew to whom Nusair truly answered, he wasn't sure if even Nevron could protect him.
"It would be foolish to waste such powerful summoning magic on that accursed guild. I, of course, could think of numerous alternative uses," Nevron said. His face twisted into that maniacal sneer once again.
"Of course, Lord Nevron," Nusair agreed. No doubt those alternative uses had something to do with the zulkir's rivals and their allies, Nusair thought-perhaps even Samas Kul himself. The tome and its magic would make a terrible weapon, indeed. Who needs an assassin, if a dragon will do the work instead? "I'll not disappoint you, Master!" Nusair added.
"Surely you won't," Nevron said in a threatening tone. His eyes smoldered as he watched his servant through the glass.
"The consequences for you would be most unpleasant. Are we clear?"
Shaking, Nuisair leaned over the orb. "Crystal clear, Master" he said.
It was popular knowledge that Nevron had summoned monstrosities from the underworld that he could command at will. Nusair wanted no part of an angry pit fiend.
With that thought, the powerful zulkir faded from view, his sneer still pasted across his face, and burned into Nusair's mind.
After the disturbing meeting with the master conjurer, Nusair hurried to his library. Despite Nevron's demands, Nusair would not be able to recover The Scalamagdrion on his own. Samas Kul watched him like a hawk, and expected to see him in Bezantur, minding his duties at the guild. Instead, Nusair would send his lead apprentice, Saura Umakra. The Rashemi wizard was ruthless. More importantly, she was someone he could control. And that was critical for what Nusair had in mind.
Finally, after all the years of licking Samas Kul's boots, Nusair could almost breathe the fresh air offered only by power!
Saura Umakra waited impatiently, staring through tall, arched windows at the Alamber Sea, all but black in the muted moonlight, thrashing at the rocks below. Winter's winds raced across the water, carrying with them what little natural moisture would come to Thay's arid coastal plain. Meager rains would soon fall to wash red slides of mud into Umberlee's emerald locker. The land was ever changing, she thought. Nothing stays the same, she assured herself. Nothing.
The wind whistled as it squeezed through tiny cracks in the windows of Darkul Tower. Behind her, the warmth of a raging fire heated her back while the coldness emanating through the window reddened her cheeks. The land was roasting hot in the summer and seemed equally frigid when winter's kiss was upon the barren plain. Saura pulled her cloak tighter, attempting to stave off the chill.
Nusair's library was easily the largest room in the tower and furnished in a comfortable, if dark, manner. Tapestries the color of a crimson drake, stretched down from the high ceiling, covering most of the walls in an attempt to imprison the warmth and deny the cold a foothold. Where there was no tapestry, shelf upon shelf of leather bound books lined the walls, like red bricks bound in gold. A rug of the same color as the tapestries languished on the stone floor. Comfortable chairs, upholstered in soft leather, were placed near the stone hearth and a heavy, wooden table, carved in intricate designs of twisting dragons sat like a draconic sarcophagus in the center of the room. Upon the table were several old books, half-rolled scrolls, and candles. The tiny flames flickered and wavered in drafts that slipped through the room's windows, their light lost in the blaze of the fireplace.
The large door that marked the room's only entrance swung open, drawing Saura's attention from the scene outside. In the doorway stood the master of the tower. On his face, Nusair wore a toothy smile.
Saura looked upon her mentor with thinly disguised scorn. Nusair was a handsome man to be sure. He was tall and thin, like many Mulan men, but he was strong, unlike so many purveyors of the Art who become soft with a lifetime of study. His shaved head, heavily adorned with twisting tattoos of magical script, glinted in the firelight. He wore red robes of the finest Shou Lung silk that ended just before the floor, giving the tiniest hint of soft black shoes beneath. He carried himself, Saura reckoned, with all the arrogance of an elf king, but possessed none of the substance.
For too long, Saura had stood in his shadow and shared his bed, waiting for him to reward her with robes of red. To Saura's way of thinking, the Red Wizard's contempt for her Rashemi heritage was all that stood between her and the blasted robes. Unfortunately for her however, she would have to do his bidding to get the robes she coveted. So, she had swallowed her pride for five long years. Saura didn't know how much longer she could bare it. But retribution would come swiftly, when finally it came.
"I have awaited your arrival, as you commanded," she said and knelt before her master.
"You have," he agreed before waving her to stand up. "And you'll not be sorry for it."
"As you say, Master." She forced a smile.
Nusair stepped forward and touched her face softly, running his manicured fingers down across her cheek. The dragon's claw tattoo that encircled her left eye suddenly flared with an angry twitch, as it always did when he touched her. She sneered inwardly and swallowed the rising bile brought on by his touch.
"I have finally succeeded where all others have failed," he said.
He turned from her and faced the fire, letting his hand fall away to his side. Nusair was not a man of normal desires, even for a Red Wizard. Saura knew the man's obsessions better than anyone else. She was painfully familiar with his odd preferences beneath the silken sheets in his boudoir, his taste for bitter duergar ale, and his obsession for all things Draconic. The wizard's compulsive lust for ancient artifacts and his well-financed expeditions to recover them were common knowledge among Red Wizards, and often the center of jokes among them as well.
"What great thing have you uncovered?" she asked, only half believing.
When he turned once again to stare into her eyes, any doubt Saura had about the validity of this particular fool's errand was suddenly erased by the look of victory firmly planted on his tattooed face.
"You seek the robes," he said, ignoring her question.
"Of course," she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I have but one final task to ask of you," he said in hushed tones, as though someone might hear his secret, even there, deep within his own house. He reached out again and touched her cheek, tracing his hand, nails teasing at her flesh, over the intricate tattoo that wound down her sensitive throat to plunge into her neckline. When his hand reached her throat, he dug his sharpened nails into her flesh. "I am sure that it will be easier to stomach than some tasks I have asked of you."
Saura couldn't doubt that. Her years of service in the wizard's bed were a steep price to pay for this apprenticeship.
"What could it be then?" she purred, teasing, trying to ignore the growing pain in her throat.
"If you are able to pull this one off, my dear, I shall grant you your greatest desire." He let the promise hang in the air for a bloated moment then added, "But Samas Kul must know nothing."
Nusair's hand lingered for another moment at the small of Saura's throat and he stepped past her to stare out the great, arching windows. Saura breathed a sigh of relief as he released her neck. Or was it the relief promised by what he had just offered? She would finally get the red robes that she had craved for so long-but was withholding information from the dangerous guildmaster a wise thing to do?
> Saura thought about it for a moment then nodded and asked, "What must I do?" For the robes, and an end to her infernal apprenticeship, she would do most anything.
"I have found The Scalamagdrion" he said.
Saura gasped, unable to suppress her surprise. Nusair had sought the ancient tome ever since she had known him. She had begun to believe the thing was only a fairy tale, a myth.
The book was an artifact right out of Toril's dark past. Some said it was crafted in Imaskar, long before the destruction of the ancient nation. Others thought it originated in fallen Netheril. No one knew for sure. The book was said to hold the secret to summoning strange, magic-resistant dragons from a secret place beyond reach in any other way. In the hands of the right conjurer, the book meant power… and gold.
Her master smiled at her like an ancient red wyrm about to devour its prey. "I have tracked the book from where it was raided from a crypt in Myth Drannor to where it now rests, in the City of Shadows," he said, referring to the Mulhorandi capital. "From Skuld, you will recover my treasure."
One last time, Saura looked up at the door that marked her destination. To the west, the twin towers of Horus-Re poked into the sky from behind the rounded turrets of the Palace of the Pharaoh like two massive fangs. She had spent two days trying to locate the obscure shop deep within the market district of Skuld and she was growing impatient with her search. Nearly invisible in the quickly approaching darkness and rising fog, she waited for the opportunity to seize her prize.
When darkness was near complete, and the moon hung mostly hidden behind bloated rain clouds, Saura stepped from her hiding place in a narrow alleyway opposite the building. She pulled her hood lower over her eyes and skulked to the protective cover of the stone pillars to which the door was hinged.
Saura was out long after the city's curfew. With the army away in Unther, no one was allowed to prowl the streets, save the city watch and people on the pharaoh's business, neither of which she qualified for. Mulhorrand didn't take too kindly to Red Wizards stepping foot within its borders. In the event she was caught, she would be imprisoned for sure. Likely she'd never be heard from again. She pushed that fear to the back of her mind and reached out to the locked door.
The Realms of the Dragons 2 a-10 Page 13