by Jean Rabe
Malys knew her land by heart, had committed to memory the location of every pond and village, every obsidian and quartzlike spike that stuck above the water and threatened ships. In mid-fall she pivoted, twisting the male’s body beneath hers. She dug her claws into his sides, and pulled her wings in close, so she would drop like a stone.
He flapped madly, trying to stop his descent, but she was too heavy. His neck coiled about like an angry serpent, and he brought his head in close. The male’s jaws jerked open wide and closed about Malys’s neck. She screamed in surprise and pain and raked her claws against his side. The male’s warm blood flowed over her talons, while her own blood ran in hot rivulets down her neck. She lashed her tail back and forth, brought it up to slash at his wings, then whipped it against his snout in an effort to make him release his grip.
But his teeth sunk in deeper, and for an instant Malys found it difficult to breathe. She felt dizzy, her lungs tight. Then she felt a jarring impact as the male struck the jagged rocks below. Spikes of obsidian impaled him, pushing through his back and pinning him in place.
In the same instant that he released his hold on her neck, Malys thrust her wings out to her sides and beat them, frantically to keep from joining him on the sharp rocks. Hovering only a few feet above him, her talons grazing his heaving belly, she watched him futilely struggle to free himself. Steam rose from the water where his mouth touched it and he began to shake violently.
“You’re no god,” he gasped.
“But I am alive,” she replied huskily.
Malys landed behind him, as close to the cliff face as she could, where the water was shallow and where there were no obsidian spikes. Creeping forward, she lashed out at his underside with a claw. Her sharp talons cut through his scaly flesh and drew parallel lines of blood.
As the male drew his last breath, Malys inhaled deeply. A shimmering crimson aura lifted from the dead dragon’s body and drifted toward Malys as if it were being pulled there. The red essence dropped down over Malys and slid smoothly over every contour of her massive body like a cloak. Then it seemed to cling tightly to her slightly protruding scales before sinking into her body and disappearing altogether.
Malys looked down at the dead male, who was now no more than a dry husk that was quickly dashed upon the rocks and washed out to sea. She had meant to feast upon him in order to sate her hunger.
Her regret at the missed opportunity was outweighed by the new feeling of power that crackled through her body and danced along the edge of her talons. She felt vital and superior, infused with a heady sense of power. It made her wish she had been part of the battle in the Abyss, the Chaos War he had chattered about. And it made her crave another violent encounter, another chance to prove herself.
*
“Tell me more about this Chaos War, what led to it.” Malys was snout to snout with a green dragon, another curious visitor to the Dairly Plains. This one she had elected not to kill, as she might have a use for him later – if nothing more than as a source of information about another part of Krynn or as a puppet for her plans. She didn’t trust the green dragon, didn’t trust anyone or anything, but she knew how to feign cooperation and friendship. She settled on conquering the green with silky words and unaccustomed politeness.
The green was a little larger than the red Malys slaughtered better than a month ago. He was the color of the Misty Plains’ forests, with small scales that were supple like spring twigs, not thick and rigid like other dragons. He was handsome for a green, Malys thought, but not so regal or beautiful as a red.
“The Chaos War is a tribute to mortals’ stupidity and their disregard for the gods,” the green began. “The Irda, also known as the high ogres, were the first to show their ignorance. The Graygem was in their possession, and it contained enough of Chaos to keep him at bay and away from Krynn, which he had sworn to destroy. With Chaos restricted, Takhisis could act as she pleased.”
The green regaled Malys with tales he had heard of how the Dark Queen carefully deployed her charges – loyal dragons and unwitting human pawns dubbed Knights of Takhisis – in every country on Krynn. She waited for the proper moment to order a strike and then hoped to bring all of the land under her control.
“But the Irda ruined her plans. They somehow thought the Graygem would better serve them if it was shattered. They thought with its power released, the outside world would leave them alone,” the green sneered. “They didn’t know the power inside was Chaos.”
“So Takhisis’s plan to rule Krynn ended because the gem broke?” Malys asked.
“Once freed, Chaos intended to keep his pledge to destroy the world. If our Dark Queen did nothing to stop him, she would have nothing left to rule. So she, and the less powerful gods who agreed to cooperate with her, challenged him. Chaos made his stand in the Abyss. Takhisis called her most powerful dragons to her side and permitted them to join her. Hundreds of dragons fought at our queen’s side.”
The green paused, staring at nothing. “But so few lived through it. We are scattered now, for the most part keeping to ourselves.”
“Only the dragons fought?” Malys pressed. “And Takhisis and the other gods, of course.”
“Humans were there, too – the Knights of Takhisis. There were other armored men, elves, dwarves – all of the mortal races. Even a kender. But they were gnats, nothing next to Chaos. Only the dragons were strong enough to weaken him, wear him down and distract him so a drop of his blood could be gathered within the broken halves of the Graygem. Had it not been for the dragons, there would be no Krynn. Sealing the stone again was enough to force him to leave. But his godchildren had to go with him – and all the magic, too. They say this is the Age of Mortals now.”
“I think it is the Age of Dragons,” Malys said.
The green flicked his tail lazily like a cat and shook his head sadly. He reached a talon up to scratch his angular jaw. “No. The time of dragons is passing. There are not near so many of us now. We are creatures of magic. And with magic gone, how long will it take for us to fade from Krynn?”
It was a statement, really, not a question, and the green hadn’t expected an answer. But Malys gave him one.
“We do not have to fade at all.” She fixed her eyes on the green, and the corner of her massive scarlet lip curled upward in a slight smile. “A red challenged me recently, and though it pained me, I was forced to fight him. I was victorious, of course. As he died, I felt stronger. I became more powerful. I knew that by slaying him I had absorbed his magical essence. I am not going to fade.”
The green rose on his haunches and backed away from Malys. “Are you suggesting dragons purposely kill each other to survive?”
“You don’t want to fade from Krynn, do you?” she asked, turning the green’s words back on him. “Better some die, rather than all. Better you live.”
The green silently regarded Malys. Then after several silent moments he spoke. “The coppers, the brass, the bronzes. The draconians.”
“Those who are smaller and weaker, those who would not pose much of a challenge in a fight. Those who have a hint of magic about them. Kill them and gain their power.”
“They are my enemies anyway,” the green mused, his conscience tossed soundly out the door.
“Perhaps even smaller green dragons.”
“No!”
“Of course not,” Malys was quick to apologize. “Forgive me. I was merely thinking you might want to eliminate those beneath you, those who could present a threat and who might grow more powerful as they killed their enemies – and eventually turned on you.”
The green stared at her, thinking. He drummed a claw against the earth. “I would presume that smart dragons would use the magical essence they gained to establish domains, claim tracts of Krynn and shape the land to suit them.”
Malys glanced over her shoulder at her new lair, which was part of a small mountainous area she was landscaping. “The Dairly Plains are mine,” she hissed. “And soon I will take the
land to the west of them.”
The green dragon nodded. Malys had provided him with an excellent plan. He couldn’t wait to share it with all of his other allies.
*
One year later, Khellendros became dragon overlord of a realm consisting of the Northern Wastes, Hinterlund, Gaardlund, and the Plains of Solamnia – those lands touched by the Turbidus Ocean as far south as Solamnia’s new border. The Blue likely could have claimed more territory, but that would have taken more time, and would require that many more hours be devoted to patrolling his realm.
He selected a lesser blue dragon, Gale, to keep an eye on the farthest edges of his territory. Gale, knowing it was better to ally himself with Khellendros than to be trampled by him, loyally served the Storm Over Krynn.
Khellendros preferred to spend his time trying to perfect blue spawn. He selected the best human candidates to become his nightmarish creations, and found the occasional draconian that was needed to power the transformations. He preferred to spend time thinking about Kitiara and how he would ultimately find a way to bring her back.
*
The inhabitants of New Coast were occupied with worries about their land, which was becoming wetter than was normal for fall. The rains had increased dramatically and the water was not being absorbed by the ground as fast as usual. Deep pools of water lay about inland villages, drowning crops and threatening homes. Rivers were spreading out and threatening to swallow farms. The temperature was climbing and swarms of insects were becoming as thick as clouds.
The unseasonable fall warmth was making the coastline steamy, hotter than it was in the summer. And the coastline itself was shifting. The water in the fingerlike bay of New Sea that reached between New Coast and Blödehelm was rising and becoming choked by lilies. People who lived along the shore were being forced farther inland.
A concerned silver dragon had taken to the skies in search of an answer. On this day he dipped low over the land, inspecting a fetid bog. It hadn’t been there a few weeks ago when he had visited. He made another pass over it and landed nearby. A hundred yards away was the edge of a copse of trees, and nestled between the largest willows was a reedy marsh that stretched toward the horizon. The trees had been there a long time, but the thick vines and moss that hung from their branches were new. Their roots were submerged in the brackish water.
The dragon didn’t remember the marsh either, though he had to admit he was not thoroughly conversant with this stretch of New Coast. A haze of mosquitoes hovered above the stagnant surface and wet roots. A fat, contented frog had partly submerged itself in a patch of mud and now rotated its eyes in the dragon’s direction.
“It is wet here,” the dragon began. “Too wet for this season.” The words sounded more like grunts and croaks. Silvers had a knack for being able to communicate with most species, and the young dragon enjoyed animal banter, often finding the conversations enlightening. Unlike people, and some other dragons he knew, animals didn’t lie.
“Never too wet,” the frog belched in tones the dragon understood. “Wet. Warm. Many insects to eat. Wonderful.”
“It has not been like this long.”
“Less than a moon,” the frog replied.
“Less than a month,” the dragon whispered.
“Forever,” the frog added. “It will be wet forever.”
The silver cocked his head closer. “What do you know about the water?”
“The master likes the water, too. And the heat. Wonderful heat.”
“The master?”
“The master makes it rain. She makes the ground hard so the rain stays on top, doesn’t sink in and run away. Wonderful rain.”
“Who is this master?”
“I am.”
The voice wasn’t the frog’s. It was deep and rich, feminine, and it came from behind the silver, from the insect-plagued marsh.
“And you are trespassing.”
The dragon slowly turned his head, and his eyes narrowed. Peering into the copse of moss-draped trees, he saw a pair of large, dull yellow eyes gleaming just above ground level, shining through the fog of mosquitoes.
The silver slipped away from the wallowing frog and moved closer to the marsh.
“What you are doing here is wrong, unnatural,” the silver lectured. “The land was not meant to be like this. You have no right to change it.”
“The land is mine, all of New Coast and Blödehelm.”
The silver edged its head past a curtain of vines so he could see the Black better. The Black was lying in the marsh.. Only the top crest of her head and her eyes were visible above the reedy water.
Suddenly the vines nearby twisted like writhing serpents. At the Black’s unspoken command, they wrapped about the silver’s head and jaws, muzzling him, spinning around his neck. Tree roots rose from the water and circled his legs.
The silver struggled. He was immensely strong, and the vines could not hold him. In the instant the silver broke free, the Black rose from the marsh and breathed a gout of acid, striking the silver on his snout.
The caustic liquid sizzled and hissed, and the silver dragon recoiled in pain and surprise. The Black pressed her attack, breathing on him again. The harsh acid melted the scales around the silver’s head. The Black rushed forward and slammed her shoulder into a willow. The tree groaned and toppled, striking the silver.
The silver backed quickly away from the marsh’s edge, and the Black followed him. Now, in the light, he could see better. She was covered with black thick scales and had midnight-blue ridged plates on the underside of her neck and her belly. Her wings were smooth and the color of the night sky, and her horns grew out of a crest just above and behind her slanted eyes. The ivory horns were menacing hooks, cruelly curving up a bit at the tips.
Her tongue snaked out repeatedly, and the saliva that dripped from her mouth sizzled as it struck the grassy carpet.
The Black was only a little larger than the silver, and in a fair fight she could not have bested him. But she had gained the advantage, and she worked to keep it. This time she directed her acid breath at his front claws.
The silver rose on his back legs and opened his mouth to retaliate. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled, expelling a stream of quicksilver. But the Black was too quick. She dashed forward, under him.
The Black lashed upward at the silver’s belly. Her talons and teeth cut through his mirror scales, and she released another stream of acid. It splashed into his wound and he began to crumple and twitch. She moved in to finish him.
“I am Onysablet,” she hissed as she brought her jaws toward his face. Her horns pricked the scaly flesh beneath his eyes. “This is my realm.”
*
Six years later, the inhabitants of Southern Ergoth, an island continent six hundred miles north to south and nearly as wide, found themselves experiencing a change in climate thanks to one new resident.
Throughout the land’s history, Southern Ergoth boasted diverse climates. Now it was perpetually cold. Snow covered the desolate plains in the north. Snow blanketed the old forests and the mountains. A thick sheet of ice lay sparkling over the grasslands and lakes. The deep waters of the Bay of Darkness were so choked with ice and snow that they, and the surrounding coast, had become a glacier. In the Straits of Algoni and in the Sirrion Sea beyond, icebergs floated and menaced the shipping lanes.
It was winter – and would stay winter – because Southern Ergoth’s dragon overlord, Gellidus, was partial to the cold. Gellidus had spent the better part of a year sculpting the land to suit his needs. He was particularly fond of deep, hard-packed snow that he could glide across at amazing speeds. He also fancied thick drifts in which he’d hide and wait for unsuspecting prey. To him, the frigid wind was as cherished as a lover’s caress, and its howl blew down the mountainsides and across the frozen lakes as welcomed as a whispered kiss.
The dragon was known as “Frost.” An immense white dragon with glistening scales, his wings were smooth like oiled leather and tinged with
pale blue edges. His head was covered with an angular, ridged carapace.
Gellidus had spent the past several months sculpting the climate to suit him, and dining on those dragons who protested. He’d also acquired a taste for the Kagonesti, Qualinesti, and Silvanesti, though it took a lot of them to fill his cavernous stomach.
The ogres and goblins claimed the mountains – or rather the mountain caves and niches that were too small to accommodate the White’s massive body. The elves who were able, abandoned the land. Those who remained did their best to hide from Gellidus and to adapt to the unnatural environment.
Southern Ergoth no longer held the promise of being a sovereign state for elvenkind where the Kagonesti, Qualinesti, and Silvanesti could exist side by side in peace. Shivering and weeping, most of the elves were driven from their homes and forced to flee west.
*
As the years passed, Krynn’s dragon population dwindled. Only a few dozen remained, and these were great, fearsome beasts of incredible size and power who firmly established their territories.
Some smaller dragons survived, those who knew how to hide from their huge brethren and who had no desire to challenge any of them for territory.
One such dragon was Brynseldimer. He had previously lived in the troubled waters of the Blood Cup, but laid claim to Dimernesti – the easterly sunken land of the sea elves.
He was a sea dragon, an ancient one who’d seen more than four hundred years. His blue and green scales had long ago lost their iridescent shine, and were flat and dull and covered with barnacles, dark like the bottom of the sea. His horns rose twisting from the top of his head, and when he nestled himself on the ocean floor, he looked like a craggy coral ridge. His tail was thin and smooth like a sea snake, and it was tipped with a barbed point that he often used to skewer large fish – or to spear the occasional overly-curious sea elf.