by Jean Rabe
“I shall succeed!” the blue dragon bellowed as a massive
paw shot forward and trapped the kapak. “I shall experiment with you again – and again.”
*
Many months later Khellendros was well-rested, sated, and pleased. A quartet of blue spawn stood deep in his lair, and he had spent the past few hours admiring them.
The kapak that helped fuel their creation lay on the cavern floor, exhausted and sore. Its thirst had been quenched, and it, too, had recently eaten. The blue dragon was making sure it stayed reasonably healthy so he could use it again.
Khellendros knew his blue spawn, his children, were more powerful than the kapak, possibly more powerful than even the auraks – the greatest of the Dark Queen’s draconians. It had taken the ancient spell coupled with the kapak’s blood and scales, his own tears, and four humans gathered from a nomadic barbarian tribe north of his lair. The bodies gave substance to the spawn, kept the forms from fading. The human minds were blended with the kapak’s to create a new creature, one that was thoroughly and magically loyal to Khellendros.
“One of you shall have the honor of housing Kitiara,” the blue dragon whispered. He padded from his lair, spread his wings, and headed toward Nightlund.
Behind him and forgotten, the kapak struggled to its clawed feet. For several long moments it studied the blue-scaled spawn. They returned its stare, but said nothing, did nothing. Khellendros had not given them any orders, had not told them they could speak. Miniature lightning bolts crackled about their sharp black claws, and their eyes seemed to glow like smoldering embers.
They are beautiful, the kapak thought. It was angry and astonished that a bit of its own mind, and some of its scales, kindled the magic that birthed them. Birth. The word hung in its dense head.
“Auraks should know,” it said, referring to its brother draconians that were made from the corrupted eggs of gold dragons. “They should know about this. And the sivaks.” The kapak knew that the auraks and the sivaks were the smartest and most cunning of the draconians. Perhaps they could use this magic to make draconians procreate, to make them no longer sterile. Perhaps they would reward the kapak for this information.
The scheming kapak stumbled from Khellendros’s lair, a self-appointed mission powering its uneven steps.
*
The miles melted beneath Khellendros’s wings. It was dark when he reached Nightlund, and the pale moon that hung in the clear sky overhead illuminated a scene that was the same – yet different – than what he had observed many months ago. The great blue dragon skimmed over the tops of the old trees and dropped toward the ground. He glided to a stop near a small hillock, and stared at the circle of stones that sat there. The fog was gone, the ancient stones visible to anyone.
Khellendros was puzzled, but he strode forward, his footfalls sounding like muffled thunder. His body too large to fit between the stones, he pushed off with his legs and landed in their center. Catlike, he wrapped his tail about his haunches.
He closed his eyes and concentrated, pictured the misty realm of The Gray, thought about Kitiara. Khellendros saw himself floating through the haze, moving closer to his once-partner, calling out to her, being reunited, telling her about his blue spawn and her new body. But when he opened his eyes he was still inside the ring.
“No!” The blue dragon’s scream cut across the Nightlund countryside. A deep sound raced up his throat and formed a bolt of lightning that shot out from his mouth and sped far into the sky.
Khellendros slammed his eyes shut, concentrating again. He repeated the spell over and over in his head, pictured himself moving beyond Krynn, to other dimensions. Again nothing happened.
In anger, he thrashed his tail about, striking one of the stones and toppling it. “The magic!” he hissed. “The magic does not come! The portal does not open!”
He breathed another bolt of lighting, striking a stone and sending it into a shower of pebbles that harmlessly bounced off his thick hide. Then he called clouds to form, heavy black ones that quickly filled the sky and yielded a terrible storm to match his raging temper. The wind picked up and was soon howling. Rain smacked into the earth, lightning flashed, and thunder rocked the landscape.
“Another portal,” he hissed over the storm’s wailing. “I shall fly to another portal.” His legs tensed, ready to push him into the sky.
“Another portal will not work.”
The voice sounded hollow, little more than a whisper, but it froze the great dragon in place. He cast his massive head about, looking for the speaker who would dare intrude on his portal. His keen eyes saw nothing but the rain, the storm-flattened grass, and the ancient stones.
“The magic is gone from this portal, from all of the portals.”
“Who are you?” the dragon boomed in a voice that could be heard above the thunder.
“No one of consequence,” the voice replied.
“How do you know this?”
“I know there is little magic left on Krynn.”
“Reveal yourself!” Khellendros snapped, as his tail lashed out again and knocked over two more stones.
“Careful!” the speaker cautioned, at last showing himself.
One of the ancient stones pulled back from the circle, shimmered dully, shrank, and, like clay being worked by a skilled potter, formed itself into a small, humanlike image. The man was little more than a foot tall, naked and gray. He had no ears, only tiny holes on the sides of his head, and his eyes were large and black, without pupils. His fingers were reed thin and pointed, like his small teeth.
The dragon moved forward, raised a paw, and drove it down to squash the little man. But the speaker was fast. He darted to the side, clung to one of the stones, and made “tsk-tsk” sounds.
“Killing me will not make the portals work.”
“What are you?” Khellendros boomed.
“A huldrefolk,” the man replied.
“A faerie,” the blue dragon hissed, his eyes narrowing.
“You know of us?”
Khellendros lowered his head until his nose was mere inches from the huldrefolk’s small form. “One of Krynn’s lost races,” the dragon intoned flatly. “A shapeshifter, a master of elements. A master of earth?”
The gray man nodded his bald head.
“You live in The Gray.”
“Or wherever suits my tastes. Suited,” he quickly corrected himself.
“I want to access The Gray,” Khellendros growled.
“As do I,” the huldrefolk said. “I prefer it to other realms. But the magic is gone from this world. The battle in the Abyss saw to that.”
“The Abyss?” Khellendros’s golden eyes grew wide. The kapak had mentioned a battle in the Abyss, but the dragon had paid no attention to the creature and its ramblings.
“Weren’t you there?” the huldrefolk began. “I thought all the dragons were in the Abyss, summoned by Takhisis.”
“I was... elsewhere.” The blue dragon’s words were iced with menace. “What happened to provoke such a battle?”
“The Graygem – the stone that held the essence of Chaos, the all-father – was shattered. He was released, and he was furious he’d been imprisoned for so many centuries. He threatened to destroy Krynn as punishment to his children, who had trapped him in the gem. So his children, the lesser gods, joined together to fight him. The dragons helped, as well as many humans – plus elves, kender, and the like.”
“Takhisis?”
“She’s gone,” the small man said.
“How could she abandon her children, especially if they fought at her behest?”
“In the end all the gods abandoned their children. Chaos could not be truly bested, though somehow his essence was captured again in the Graygem. The lesser gods vowed to leave Krynn if Chaos would promise not to destroy it. And when he agreed, they left, taking the three moons and magic with them. There’s only one moon now.”
Khellendros stared up at the large orb so unlike the other moons.
“All the magic is gone?”
The huldrefolk shrugged. “The magic that powers the portals – that’s gone. The magic sorcerers call on to cast their spells is gone too. There’s a little magic left here and there in the earth, in old weapons and baubles, and in creatures like you and me,” he continued. “But that’s all. They call this the Age of Mortals, but I call it the Age of Despair.”
Khellendros stared beyond the huldrefolk, through the sheets of rain that continued to drive against the ground. “Magical items still have power?”
The huldrefolk nodded.
“The tower in Palanthas,” the dragon said. “There are magical items stored there, lots of them. Kitiara told me about them once, and about a portal below the tower that leads to the Abyss.”
“The fight in the Abyss is over,” the small man interrupted. “You missed it, remember? Which was probably a good thing, because you might have died. At least half the dragons who fought are dead. The men who fought there are dead or gone. And there’s nothing you could do there now except pick over the bones.”
Khellendros seemed not to hear him. “I shall use the magical items in the tower to open the portal, and from the Abyss I can access The Gray. I shall yet succeed and save Kitiara.”
“Aren’t you listening to me?” the gray man persisted. “The gods are gone. The world is different. Doesn’t any of this matter to you?”
Only Kitiara matters, Khellendros thought. He tensed his legs, pushed off from the ground, and joined the terrible storm.
Chapter 4
THE DISION
Palin awoke in a sweat, the sheets drenched and his long auburn hair plastered to the sides of his face. His chest heaved, and he took in great gulps of air trying to calm himself.
Usha stirred next to him. He tried to get out of bed without waking her, but he didn’t succeed.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. She sat up and ran her fingers across Palin’s forehead. “You’ve a fever! You’ve had that dream again.”
“Yes,” he replied softly. “But this time it was worse than before.” His feet stretched to the cold stone floor, and he stood and padded to the window. He pulled back the heavy curtain and peered toward the east, where the sun was just starting to show itself. “This time I’m convinced it’s more than a dream.”
Usha shuddered and climbed out of bed, drawing a silk robe about her. She glided toward him and rested her head on his bare shoulder. “It was the blue dragon?”
He nodded. “I saw him flying toward Palanthas again. This time he reached the city.” He turned toward her, wrapped his arms around her slight frame, and bent his head down and brushed his lips over her cheek. He stared into her golden eyes and combed his fingers through her disheveled silvery hair. The strands caught the first rays of the sun and glimmered. Even just roused from sleep, she was beautiful. “I think you’ve married a madman, Usha.”
She hugged him tightly. “I think I married a wonderful man,” she returned. “And I think, husband, you might have inherited your Uncle Raistlin’s ability to see the future.”
They were married less than a month ago, after Usha had convinced Palin she was no relation to Raistlin, though she had golden eyes and silvery white hair. Raistlin had not been seen for some time. The two had taken up residence in Solace, though Palin visited the Tower of Wayreth frequently.
Palin edged away from her. His intense green eyes peered out the window and over the Solamnian countryside. The tower sat just outside the city of Solanthus now, as it had for several weeks. Tomorrow it might be somewhere else. The tower never stayed in one spot too long, and it sometimes moved at Palin’s behest. The tower’s ability to manipulate space was one of the enchantments that remained with Krynn despite the disappearance of the gods of magic. Palin had learned that things imbued with magic before the war against Chaos, retained their magic.
“Let’s see if I can give this dream... this premonition,” he corrected himself, “a little more substance.” He walked over to a large oak bureau in one corner of the room, retrieved a pewter hand mirror from the top drawer, and returned to
Usha’s side. Turning his back to the window, he drew his concentration to a spot in the center of the mirror’s glassy surface as she intently leaned forward, her elbows resting on the sill.
There was a flash of light as the sun struck the mirror, and then the air shimmered and sparkled and a large, pale green oval frame materialized within the glass. Inside the frame, a picture took shape. At first the hues ran together like water-colors, but then the image sharpened and came into lifelike focus. The sun was setting on the Palanthas harbor, and a large bird was skimming across the top of the gentle waves, angling itself toward the western shoreline.
The young sorcerer cringed as he watched the creature come closer, revealing itself as a dragon. He heard Usha gasp behind him, felt her smooth fingertips on his back. Palin concentrated on the beast’s visage. It was an immense blue, a male with long white horns and bright golden eyes. It was the one that had been filling his dreams for the past three nights, and it was one he hadn’t seen in the Abyss during the war against Chaos. Though there had been so much going on, so many dragons filling the air during that fight, he would have remembered a dragon that big. It was larger than any who fought there.
“What’s the dragon want with Palanthas?” Usha said in a hushed tone.
They watched the blue dragon fade to a shadow that glided silently over the city like a hawk.
“The dragon must want something in Palanthas,” Palin whispered.
The shadow of the dragon banked toward a wraithlike view of the city’s Great Library. Pulling its wings close to its side and descending heavily to the roof, the dragon broke through the tiles and disappeared. Palin directed his attention to the hole the beast had created, peered through the dust and broken masonry.
The view shifted to accommodate him, revealing the building’s interior. The dragon sat atop the crushed and bloody bodies of monks. With his huge claws, he was tearing down shelf upon shelf, retrieving rare manuals here and there. It was evident the blue dragon was after specific tomes, magical ones. Finished with his grim work, the dragon clutched his prizes in a claw, departed the ruins, and soared into the sky. His course took him toward a tower.
“The Tower of High Sorcery,” Usha murmured.
Palin’s voice grew weaker, and his lanky frame shuddered. The dragon paid no heed to the Shoikan Grove that surrounded the Tower of High Sorcery and kept most at bay. Poised above the tower, he appeared to enact some sort of spell before he lighted agilely atop the tall building. With his rear claws, the beast started tearing at the tower. Pale stones the color of parchment flew like chunks of dirt scattered by a digging beast. The rocks rained down on the city, crushing the curious who’d come out of their homes and businesses to see what was happening.
When the image of the tower was reduced to rubble, the dragon thrust his claws into the chambers below and began retrieving chests and coffers filled with magical items, scrolls saturated with powerful arcane spells, and more. Then the dragon’s golden eyes fixed on the portal to the Abyss.
“No!” Palin hoarsely barked. “I must stop him.”
The wavering image dissipated, leaving the reflection of Palin’s ashen face and the cloudless morning sky in its place.
“But what can you do?” Usha tugged her husband away from the window and drew the curtain. “What can you do against a dragon that size?”
“I don’t know.” He cupped her chin. “But I have to do something – and soon. If my dream is in truth a vision, a glimpse into the future, the dragon could mean to strike soon, perhaps today at sunset. I can’t let him kill those people. And I can’t let him claim the tower’s magic and access the portal.”
“There’s nothing in the Abyss but the bodies of dragons and rubble,” Usha said. “What could the dragon want there?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Palin replied. “To get there, the dragon would have to ruin the tower
and the precious magic inside.” He moved toward the end of the bed, where his white robe lay. Quickly donning it, he glanced back at his wife. “I’ve got a contact in Palanthas. I can alert him, share my dream. He can do something. He can contact someone in the Tower of High Sorcery.”
“I thought with Chaos and the gods gone, we were safe,” Usha whispered. “I thought we’d finally know peace.”
Chapter 5
THE MASTER OF THE TOWER
Deep in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, a dark-clad man separated himself from the shadows. He stood before a moisture-slick wall from which jutted a lone, guttering torch. The flickering light danced over his black robe – a garment hanging in thick folds that looked much too large for his slight frame.
“You call to me,” he said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “You rouse me from my rest.” He sighed, and a train of heavy fabric trailed on the floor behind him as he lost himself once more in the darkness. His course took him up a winding stone staircase, chipped and crumbling from age. He didn’t need light to see where he was going. He knew every musty corner, expansive room, and secret corridor of the ancient tower by heart. He ran his fingertips along the cool stone walls that were covered with ornamental weapons and shields and portraits of old, long-dead wizards. He didn’t need to see the faces in the portraits, either. He knew the sorcerers when they breathed and studied in this tower, and he preferred his memories to the painted canvas – they did his friends more justice.
His measured steps took him ever higher, until he emerged in a room filled with bright morning sunlight that spilled in from several evenly-spaced windows. He glided toward the one overlooking the palace in the center of the sprawling city. In the distance was the Bay of Branchala, its brilliant blue-green waters beckoning invitingly. To the north was the massive Library of Ages, the grandest library on all of Krynn, and to the south was the Temple of Paladine. He idly wondered whether the latter would receive any more visitors now that the gods had abandoned the world.
He gazed at the city, at the many buildings that were in ruins – damaged by the battle against Chaos, by the energy and magic that had expanded beyond the Abyss. It looked to the watcher as if the battle had been fought here. No doubt, he suspected, other cities likewise had felt the repercussions of the war, their buildings and citizens scarred.