by Jean Rabe
“Palin!” Usha yelled. “One of them’s leaving: the white one. I think Rig drove it off!” She watched the mariner hurry to Fiona’s side. Usha breathed a sigh of relief when Rig tugged Fiona to her feet and they moved together toward Onysablet. “Palin, perhaps we truly can win.”
The sorcerer shook his head. “We can’t beat them,” Palin said. “We can’t kill them, not even one of them. We haven’t the power. But we can disrupt what Malys has planned. That would be some measure of victory.”
“Don’t talk like that Palin. Maybe we...”
The words died in her throat. Coming from around the pile of magical treasure were the blue and red lieutenants, Gale and Hollintress. Khellendros had sent his most trusted lieutenant to deal with Palin Majere, the hated sorcerer he thought he’d killed months ago on Schallsea Island.
“Finish him,” The Storm hissed. “Finish Palin Majere for Kitiara.”
“Palin...”
“I see them, Usha.” The sorcerer lifted Dalamar’s ring.
Khellendros cast a last glance at Palin and moved toward the treasure and the altar. The blue overlord had little interest in what the men who trespassed here were attempting. He was thinking now only of Kitiara, the queen of his heart.
“Rig!” Blister had her daggers out and hammered with them against Onysablet’s rear claw.
The mariner grimaced. The kender was doing her best, but the daggers were doing nothing to the black dragon. At the kender’s side, Veylona was faring little better. It was clear the sea elf’s blade was enchanted, for it chipped away at some of the black scales and had drawn a thin line of black blood. But it was doubtful the beast was very much hampered.
Fiona and Rig hurried to join the kender and sea elf. Rig glanced toward the front of the dragon, where Jasper was barely holding his own.
The dwarf had struck the black dragon’s front claw with the Fist of E’li. Chilling energy tingled up from the polished wooden haft, rushing into the dwarf’s chest, and sped outward from the scepter into Onysablet.
The Black snarled so loudly the ground shook beneath Jasper’s feet. Acid dripped from her jaws, spattering over the ground and the dwarf. The liquid ate through the dwarf’s clothes, burning his skin, dissolving parts of his short beard and making him gasp.
“Die!” Jasper swung the scepter again, then screamed as acid rained down on him. This time he caught the full brunt of her horrible acidic onslaught.
“I should be dead,” he coughed. “Should be... why?” The Fist, the dwarf suspected. Somehow, god-made, it was keeping him alive. The Fist and... Goldmoon? He sensed her presence near him, as he had felt her when he almost died in the cave. She had helped him regain his faith. Was her spirit helping him now?
Jasper heard his skin sizzle, saw it bubble up, and felt intense pain.
“Jasper!” Rig was coming closer. “Jasper, get out of there. Get —”
A wail divided Rig’s attention. At the same time Onysablet breathed on Jasper, she had kicked backward with her rear leg. Blister and Veylona somersaulted through the air, heading toward the edge of the plateau. Fiona reached out to them, though she was in danger of tumbling over the side herself.
The mariner lunged after her, his arm outstretching, fingers finding the sea elf’s tunic and pulling even as Fiona’s hand locked onto Blister’s wrist. Fiona struggled to keep herself from falling over the side and quickly pulled the kender up.
Rig tugged Veylona over, frowning when he noticed she was unconscious. A trickle of dark blue blood ran over her lips. More blood stained the front of her tunic where the dragon’s rear claw had dug into her flesh. The stain was growing. He laid her down and turned back toward the black dragon. Tending to the sea elf would have to wait – if there was time. If they survived.
“Beast!” Jasper screamed at Onysablet. The dwarf’s eyes were slits, the lids hurt so badly from the acid he couldn’t open them farther. The Black lowered her head, still keeping her eyes on Malystryx and Khellendros. The latter was not bothered by the little men and inched forward, nearer to the magical treasure.
The massive black grinned, more acid spilling from her midnight lips. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the man with the glaive approaching her, and she sensed the magic in the weapon he held, knowing it had wounded Gellidus. Onysablet lashed out with a wing, catching the dark man unawares, sending him away from her and nearly into the path of a lightning bolt breathed by the blind blue dragon.
Rig felt himself flying from the impact. For an instant he feared he would be catapulted into Palin and Usha. A lightning bolt cut through the air near him, ending his musings and sending a searing jolt through him. He saw miniature bolts of lighting dance across the blade of the glaive, but he refused to drop the weapon. A wave of dizziness washed over him.
Can’t lose consciousness! he thought. I must stay awake! He slammed into the ground, the air rushing from his lungs, and the blackness overwhelmed him.
“Beast!” Jasper repeated. The dwarf had realized within moments of coming upon Onysablet that she was more formidable than Brine, the sea dragon he had helped slay. “Foul dragon!” Somehow a little of the acid had found its way inside his mouth. It was burning his tongue and making it difficult for him to speak. He swallowed, and his throat felt on fire.
The Black snaked a claw up, then brought it down, intending to slash at the tiny dwarf, to rip him in two so she could devote her full attention to the red overlord’s ceremony. Instead, the dwarf darted out of the way, and she caught only a piece of him.
Jasper howled and felt his left arm go limp. The pain was ghastly, as the acid ate away at his skin. “I have faith,” he said through clenched teeth. “I have faith!”
He felt about for the presence of Goldmoon’s spirit. It was there, stronger than before, reassuring and comforting. “Faith!” The dwarf stepped closer, trying to find the strength to stay on his feet and to raise the scepter with his still-serviceable right arm. “Die, dragon!” he spat. “Die!” But his arm burned from the acid.
“Your faith is strong,” Goldmoon whispered. “Rely on your faith, my friend.”
The air shimmered next to the dwarf, and suddenly there was the ghostlike image of the healer. Her Medallion of Faith glistened around her neck, sparkling brighter as her form took on substance.
“Goldmoon?” Jasper could barely manage the word.
She nodded, brushing against him, her flesh warm and solid. No ghost. Not any longer. She was dressed in leather leggings and a tunic. Her hair was sprinkled with beads and feathers. She was as his Uncle Flint had described her: young and full of fire. She looked as she had during the War of the Lance.
“I’m here, Jasper,” she said softly, a hint of sadness to her voice. “And I am truly alive. It wasn’t my time to die. River-wind convinced me to return.”
How? He wanted to ask her. How is it possible you’re here? The gods? Did they have a hand in this? Are they not truly gone? I watched Dhamon Grimwulf kill you, he thought. I tried to save you, but I didn’t have the faith to sustain you and keep you alive. I failed you. Forgive me.
She smiled, as if she had heard his thoughts. “There is nothing to forgive, my friend,” she said. “Trust your faith, Jasper. Use your faith.”
He did trust his faith. He saw the spark inside of him and somehow found the strength to lift the scepter. He held it high above and behind him even as Goldmoon leapt forward with a thick quarterstaff.
“Goldmoon’s alive!” Jasper shouted as he slammed the scepter against the black dragon’s leg. “Goldmoon’s alive!” He was practically beaming as the dragon roared. Black scales fell on Jasper, black blood spattered his head. He shut out the pain and thought only of the joy. Goldmoon lived!
The dwarf pulled back on the Fist of E’li, thinking now only of the dragon’s death, and swung it even harder. “My faith will protect me!”
The dragon roared again, lashing out with her other claw. This time she aimed not for the dwarf, but for the silver-
and gold-haired woman who had also struck her. The woman’s goodness sickened Onysablet; it was a purity that threatened the black dragon’s perfect foulness and corruption.
The claw barely connected with Goldmoon; only a talon ripped at her tunic. Onysablet howled again, anticipating victory. The black dragon gave all her attention to the healer.
The dwarf would come second. One more thrust and the woman of goodness would be gone.
Behind her, the ceremony in the center of the plateau continued. Onysablet could feel the energy pulsing from the magic items, could sense the electricity in the air. Her black heart pounded in rhythm with the thunder Khellendros was summoning in the skies overhead. It would take her but a moment to kill this woman, then the dwarf would follow. Then she would watch Malystryx as a dragon goddess was reborn.
Khellendros edged closer to the treasure, his claw clutched around the burning lance once wielded by Huma.
Malystryx had weathered a second blast of water from the Kagonesti’s crown, which had pushed her farther away from the magical treasure. The red dragon had not been hurt, merely thrown off balance. Malystryx launched another fiery breath at Feril. This time the elf dodged it on her own and continued to fight at the side of Dhamon Grimwulf, the human who had been Malystryx’s most promising pawn. The only pawn to defy her.
The red overlord snarled, flames wreathing her head. “Dhamon Grimwulf,” she hissed in her deep, inhuman voice, as she slouched toward him. “I intended to slay you after I became a goddess, to punish you then for your foolish insolence. But I will do so now, taking from you the glory of watching me ascend. I shall destroy you and the accursed elf.”
Malys moved closer, snaking her head forward, her malevolent eyes narrowed to gleaming slits.
Behind her, Khellendros’s claws touched the mound of treasure. He now stood where Malystryx had been standing. The blue overlord looked to the sky, where small forms – black, green, blue and silver, gold, and more – dove and swooped. His keen eyes separated the shapes, saw blasts of quicksilver pelt the greens, and watched clouds of acid strike the gold dragon in the lead. The gold dragon had a rider, as did many of the silvers. And that human element made both of those dragons more curious, more threatening.
Three of the blacks were attacking the silver with the elf upon her back. Khellendros watched as the blacks breathed streams of acid. The silver slipped away at the last possible moment, saving herself and her rider.
As Khellendros wished he could have saved Kitiara’s life those long years ago.
“Ah, Kitiara,” he breathed. “My queen. Malystryx’s form is not good enough for you. It is tainted. I shall choose another.”
Fissure was pressed against The Storm’s leg, hiding in his shadow, adding to the magical essence, and thinking of The Gray.
“Khellendros!” Malystryx keened. She had cast a glance over her shoulder, spotted Khellendros in her place. “Move aside! The ceremony is mine! Move away from my treasure!”
The Storm Over Krynn watched Malystryx turn more toward him now, fury etched across her massive red face, flames licking out to burn him. But the fire burned only faintly now. It hurt less than the lance he grasped. The magical energy pulsing into him from the treasure beneath his claws, and the strength the lightning gave him as it raced down from the clouds and pulsed through his scales, was keeping him safe, making him stronger.
Khellendros watched Gale and Hollintress glide toward Palin Majere and a silver-haired woman with golden eyes.
He saw Beryl, the green overlord, claw at a big half-ogre, saw a red-haired wolf dash in front of the Green’s talons and save the big man – as he wished he had saved Kitiara. As Beryl’s claw connected, the wolf seemed to explode in a golden flash of energy, leaving nothing but a stunned half-ogre and an angry green dragon with a sore claw. Khellendros sensed that the wolf, or whatever it truly was, was still nearby, reforming itself.
Then Khellendros watched as Goldmoon, a woman he recognized as the mistress of the Citadel of Light, narrowly dodged Onysablet’s jaws. Acid rained down on her deerskin tunic, sizzling and popping as the dwarf’s skin had done minutes ago.
“Goldmoon!” the dwarf was yelling. “Get out of the way!”
“My faith will protect me!” she called back. There was a deep sadness in her voice and in her eyes. Her fingers trembled as she brought the staff up to strike Onysablet’s descending claw. “My faith.” She sobbed openly, her tears spilling over her cheeks and down her neck to wash over the Medallion of Faith that hung there.
The Medallion! The Storm finally realized Goldmoon, not Fissure, had taken the second medallion from his pile of treasure. Back from the dead to claim her cherished possession. Back from the dead, as Kitiara should be.
“My faith!” she exulted.
Onysablet’s claw bounced harmlessly away from the healer, knocked back by her simple wooden staff. But a second claw was moving in, talons razor sharp and gleaming. Talons aimed at Goldmoon’s heart.
The Storm Over Krynn heard the dwarf calling out, watched the dwarf wield the magical scepter, throwing off Onsyablet’s aim.
The Storm watched as the dwarf gathered his strength and leaped to interpose himself between Goldmoon and the claw, while at the same time bringing his own weapon down hard against it.
The talon pierced the dwarf’s heart instead of the healer’s.
But light blossomed forth from the Fist of E’li, scorching Onysablet and hurling the black dragon back into the path of a series of well-aimed blows from the man with the glaive and a red-haired woman. Before them was a small kender, who was also raining jabs against the dragon. They could not kill Onysablet, Khellendros knew. But they could distract the Black for some time.
Goldmoon knelt over the fallen dwarf, tears falling from her face onto his body. “My faith,” she whispered. “You were supposed to die, Jasper, on Schallsea Island. Not me. You were to die that day, my dear, precious friend. I have students to teach. And while I, alone, can do nothing against the dragons, all of my students – and others who will come to me in the future – can do something. That is why I had to come back.”
Nearby, Khellendros watched Dhamon Grimwulf step forward, the black-haired man intent on Malystryx, the elf equally intent at his side. She was using the magic of the coral crown again. Water shot from the band a third time, striking Malystryx as she opened her mouth, creating steam instead of fire. It did not hurt the great red overlord. Dhamon and the elf did not have the power, The Storm knew that. Nor did the attack deter her; instead, it succeeded only in angering her. Dhamon and the elf were less than gnats to Malystryx. Unless...
“Khellendros!” Malystryx cried. “Move away from the treasure! The ceremony is mine! Mine!”
The Storm Over Krynn gave one last look at the tumultuous scene before him. And then the blue dragon saw, seated upon a distant peak, sitting calmly, patiently, the dark form of another wyrm. It was not black; rather, it seemed cloaked in shadow. As he spied it, Khellendros felt, for the briefest of moments, a chill of doubt, as though he beheld a power vast and terrible, hidden behind a cold, inscrutable mask.
“Kitiara,” The Storm repeated to himself. The moment of weakness as gone, and his course lay plain before him. Squarely behind the altar now, Khellendros felt the earth tremble beneath the pile of magical treasure, felt energy flow into his claws and up his legs, down into his belly, across his back. He threw back his head and shot a thick bolt of lightning into the sky, felt a myriad of tiny bolts race down to caress him, to fuel him, to increase his power. The ceremony was working its magical wonders on him.
“No!” Malystryx roared. “I am to ascend! I am to be the one!”
The beautiful vision that had possessed the red overlord’s mind split apart, like a shattered crystal. The world around her dissolved into fire, ice, and steam. Malys felt her mind bleed away, flitting across the plateau in an infinite series of shadows. Yet some part remained within the dragon and glared balefully at the humans who had attacked her
.
Khellendros’s legs pulsated with arcane energy. Energy crackled from his horns.
“By all I count holy,” Palin said. He and Usha stared wide-eyed. Khellendros’s scales glowed as bright as the sun, and his eyes glistened like gems.
Light cascading off The Storm Over Krynn illuminated the Window to the Stars and cast a harsh glare over the dragons. The massive blue overlord reared back on his hind legs, standing as a man might stand, wings swept out to his sides, with Huma’s lance still clutched in his claw. The weapon no longer burned him. Lightning flickered around his teeth and eyes, cavorted around his claws, and made the lance glow dazzlingly bright.
The dark huldrefolk at Khellendros’s side squinted, gazing up in disbelief.
“Storm?” Fissure whispered.
Beryl paused in her attack on the half-ogre, lowering her head in deference to The Storm.
Onysablet directed all her attention to Khellendros now, not caring that Goldmoon was pulling away the dwarf’s body, tugging it toward the unconscious blue-skinned woman. “Khellendros!” Onysablet screamed in surprise.
Hollintress and Gale turned to face the blue dragon. Hollintress registered the power that now emanated from Khellendros, while Gale only understood that magical energy covered the overlord and made the plateau tremble wildly.
“No!” Malystryx wailed. “It was to be me! Me!” Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she clawed deep fissues in the ground before her. She glared at Dhamon Grimwulf. “Human!” she spat. “You caused this! You distracted me! You will pay!”
“Dhamon Grimwulf.” The words sounded long and drawn out, coming from The Storm Over Krynn. “Do you want Malystryx, Dhamon Grimwulf?”
Dhamon looked up, squinting through the bright light and the lightning. He saw something glowing fall toward him.