The Dawning of a New Age

by Jean Rabe

  They sat at a round birch table, on birch chairs that were thickly padded and comfortable. They drank peach cider from tall crystal goblets and enjoyed the silence. The room was elegant, yet simply furnished, white wood everywhere. The china cabinet and the long, low buffet near it were respectively filled and covered with white dishes and vases. It was a welcome change of pace from the desert.

  Blister upended her drink, licked her lips and slipped from her chair so she could better admire the dark orange tunic she was wearing. It was one of Linsha Majere’s discarded shirts that was gathered and belted, and it looked more like a long gown with the tip of its tail dragging on the floor. It had tiny seed pearls along the collar, and as the kender ran her white-gloved thumb across them she smiled.

  Dhamon was roughly Palin’s size, and borrowed a pair of dark brown leggings and a white silk shirt that fit him almost perfectly. He was pleased at its relative plainness, and the soft material felt good against his body.

  Shaon and Feril wore clothes kept on hand for needy travellers, which were far removed from what either woman was used to. Shaon’s dress was a pale lilac trimmed in ivory lace around a high neck. It was a little short and draped only to the tops of her ankles, as Shaon was quite tall. The sea barbarian nonetheless looked stunning, and to her surprise found herself staring in the mirror.

  Feril’s was a forest-green flowing gown with roses embroidered in dark red thread along the bodice. The sleeves came to her elbows and fluttered like butterfly wings when she walked. Following Blister’s lead, she got up from the table. She whirled in front of Dhamon, laughing softly. “Do you approve?” Her hair was full again, like a lion’s mane.

  Dhamon stared at her. “You’re beautiful,” Dhamon said in a hushed voice. She looked surprised. It was one of those rare times when she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Shaon cleared her throat loudly and walked toward the stairs. “I want to check on my creature,” she said.

  “Your creature?” Blister grumbled. “It’s my magic bag. And Feril shrank the nasty thing.” The kender stuck her chin in the air. “It’s our creature.” But the sea barbarian was long gone, and the kender’s words were wasted.

  Dhamon moved toward the stairs, but Feril’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Wait,” she began. “You were traveling to the Lonely Refuge for something.” She gestured to a polished walnut box nearly two feet long and half as wide that sat in the center of the table.

  “Was that there before?” he asked. Dhamon stepped closer and ran his fingers across the lid, and carefully opened it. Inside was a piece of steel, dented in places, and festooned with bits of brass and gold.

  It was a lance handle, old and ornate, with intricate whorls and designs along its surface. He pulled the handle out and inspected the hole for the lance. Dhamon held it with his right hand, the way someone wielding the completed weapon might. The thing felt impossibly light.

  Dhamon turned it over and spotted twin hooks. He reached inside his pocket, where he’d slipped the silk banner after changing clothes, and fastened the flag in place. “Only one part is missing now,” he said. “And Palin will take us to it.” He looked to Feril, who was smiling at him proudly.

  “One of the original dragonlances,” Dhamon said reverently. “I wondered if these things were simply legends.”

  Feril laughed. “They were real all right – and I guess a couple of them are still around.”

  Dhamon nodded and gently replaced the lance handle and banner in its box. “I don’t know if even a magical lance could kill something as big as the White you saw.”

  “You have to have faith,” Feril countered. “Magic, if it’s powerful enough, could make the size of something irrelevant,” she said. “And speaking of magic, I think I’ll see what Palin is doing with the spawn.”

  Feril, her butterfly sleeves billowing, seemed to float toward the stairs. As she started up, Blister, who had been so still and silent they had forgotten she was there, followed her. The kender glanced at the big steps, and scowled. “Everything’s built for humans,” Blister muttered. She knew Feril would get to the top long before her.

  *

  “Goldmoon’s champions are a rather ragtag lot,” the Master said. He sat at a long polished table, opposite Palin.

  “I remember my father telling me stories about he and Uncle Raistlin, Tas, and everyone. I suppose you could have called them ragtag, too – especially after they’d been in a fight.”

  The blue spawn stood in the center of the table inside a bell-shaped piece of glass with a thick cork stopper at the top. It intently regarded the two men. Then, ultimately bored, it paced back and forth, hissing and spitting lightning. The bolts bounced off the sides and ricocheted into a dazzling light show.

  “And I suspect Goldmoon chose wisely,” Palin continued. “If they bested three of these things – these new draconians – they must be formidable.”

  “Or lucky.” The Master edged his head closer to the jar and nudged the cowl back slightly, yet still his face was hidden. “Indeed, it looks like a draconian, but there are differences.”

  Palin leaned closer and stared at the spawn. The room fell silent. Suddenly, he reached forward and gripped the bottle tightly. “It’s the eyes! Look at them!”

  The Master gently pried Palin’s fingers from the jar and leaned in to study the spawn intently. “They are not entirely reptilian,” he said in agreement.

  “I don’t just mean the large round pupils or the placement of the eyes closer to the front of the head instead of toward the sides, I mean what’s behind them. They have depth. They’re soft and sad, almost...”

  “Human,” finished the Master. He regarded Palin’s sudden ashen pallor and waited silently for a few moments.

  “What is going on?” Palin cried. “What is happening to us? What are we becoming”

  “Not we,” said the Master. “We are going to figure this out.” He put his hand on Palm’s shoulder. “The spawn has a thinner tail than a draconian, and it is capable of flight. Only sivaks could fly before. Could this creature have come from the egg of a blue dragon?”

  Palin nodded. “The lightning would be consistent with a blue dragon’s breath weapon, but Takhisis created the other draconians. With her gone, who created this?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  Palin stood and walked to a bank of cabinets that stretched the length of the room. Built into the wall, and made of the same wood as the table, it contained a few dozen different drawers of varying size with assorted nobs and handles. He opened a drawer and extracted a few sheets of parchment, a quill and a vial of ink. “I will record our observations,” he explained as he arranged the objects on the table.

  The Master left the room for a moment, his dark robe silently trailing behind him. When he returned, he was carrying a copper basin filled to the rim with water. He placed it on the table and seated himself there. Placing his hands on either side of the basin, he leaned forward as if he meant to drink from it. Words tumbled from his lips. Soft and craggy, his voice sounded like a breeze rustling papers.

  Palin watched the Master, realizing he was casting a spell of divination that would allow them to see the birth of the creature, the process that created it, and who was responsible. Without taking his eyes off the water’s surface, Palin reached for the quill and the first sheet of parchment.

  The Master’s words became softer and softer, until Palin could barely hear them anymore. The water shimmered slightly, reminiscent of rays of sun hitting the smooth surface of a lake. An ethereal, rippled image of a haggard-looking youth with a tangled mane of black hair appeared. Broad shouldered, scantily dressed, and weathered from the sun, he was likely a barbarian.

  “I’d say he was from the Northern Wastes,” the Master whispered. “Look at the markings on his belt.”

  “Yes, and by their indications he wasn’t from too far to the north of here.”

  “Where are you, man or spawn? Show us your surroundings, the
place you were born,” the Master insisted.

  The water rippled around the image of the man, its currents shifting and reforming into a frame that resembled stone.

  “He’s in a cave,” Palin said. There were shadowing images against the cavern wall – people of various sizes and shapes, though the sorcerers could not make out enough of their features to guess their ages.

  The image on the water’s surface shifted again, the man’s muscles receding, then expanding, becoming coppery and scaly. Wings sprouted from his back, revealing a kapak, a rather witless draconian that cringed and looked furtively about the false cave.

  “This is interesting. Perhaps a kapak was merged with the man,” Palin speculated. “But how? And why would it turn blue?”

  Again the image rippled and shifted form, the kapak-like image starting to grow, seeming to fill the entire cavern in which it had stood. The water turned completely blue and the two sorcerers leaned closer toward the basin.

  “What happened?” asked Palin.

  “Perhaps it is the sky,” answered the Master, leaning still closer to search for a small figure in flight or a cloud.

  Suddenly the water parted in the center, revealing a huge glowing orb. A blue dragon had just opened his eye.

  The two sorcerers quickly backed away from the basin and looked at each other. “Skie,” said Palin.

  They watched together as the reptilian eye rotated around its bulbous socket, seeming to look around the room. Its baleful gaze fixed on them and the eye narrowed. The image began to ripple. The water grew turbulent, roiled and then boiled away. The copper basin was empty.

  “What does all of that mean?”

  The voice was Shaon’s. The sea barbarian stood in the doorway, glancing at the basin and then at the jar containing the trapped spawn. She shuffled into the room and leaned over the table, staring at the creature. It returned her gaze.

  Palin scratched furiously on the parchment, wanting to record every observation before time passed and chased away even the merest recollection.

  “It means that Goldmoon chose her champions wisely,” the Master said. His voice was softer than before, the ordeal of the spell wearing on him. He leaned back in his chair, exhaled slowly. “For all our magic and books and hours of study, you and your fellows were able to discover something about the dragons that Palin and I, and our associate who is elsewhere, could not. If the dragons – if even one of the dragons – found a way to create new draconians, spawn – then...” His voice trailed off.

  “Then Krynn is in worse trouble than any of us feared,” Dhamon finished. He had stepped into the room behind Feril.

  The Master agreed. “The dragons are enough of a menace on their own. And if we have to deal with the Blue’s spawn before we can defeat the dragons, I don’t know if we have a chance.”

  “There is always a chance,” Palin said, laying down the quill. “I’m going with you back to Palanthas. We’ll pick up the final piece of the lance there.”

  “The Dark Knights – the Blue’s agents – will be watching us,” Blister added. The kender had finally made it up the stairs and was panting from the exertion. She wondered how many trips the sorcerers made up and down the stairs each day. Maybe mages kept their important rooms at the top so they would force themselves to get exercise, she thought.

  “Still, we must go to Palanthas. I believe we can find more answers there than we can by sitting here.” Palin thrust his hand into a deep pocket. He retrieved Blister’s net bag and handed it to the kender. “It’s not magic,” he told her. “Sorry. And it’s not especially strong. I suspect the spawn must have been injured in your battle with it, unable to summon the strength to break out. We’ll keep it in the jar to be safe.”

  “Won’t it die in there, without air?” the kender wondered.

  Palin shook his head. “The jar is magical. I don’t want this thing escaping.” He glanced at Feril. “When did you study mysticism with Goldmoon?”

  “I didn’t,” she said, looking down.

  Intrigued, Palin turned toward her. “And the shrinking of the spawn, your magic?”

  “It’s just something I can do. I’ve been able to use magic all my life.”

  “Inherent magic,” Palin said, smiling and turning to look at the Master. “When we have time,” he added, “I’d like to discuss your magic with you.”

  She nodded. “I’d be honored.”

  “Can we make a... side trip?” Feril asked. “There’s a young boy in a village. He’s all alone. The spawn took all the adults in his village.”

  “How many adults?” The words erupted out of Palin’s mouth.

  “A few dozen were taken, from what we understand,” she replied.

  “The Blue could indeed be making an army of these things,” the Master said. “And an army is never without a purpose.”

  “Well, the spawn are not unbeatable,” Palin returned, pointing at the trapped creature.

  “Neither are we,” Blister said.

  *

  Khellendros purred. He looked out through the eyes of his blue spawn, studying Palin, the Master, and the others. “By taking my spawn with them, they are taking me.”

  The Blue was pleased. He would know everywhere they went, whatever they were working on, and all they discovered – without leaving his comfortable lair. In the process, he’d learn all there was to know about their weaknesses and drives. And when the time was right, he vowed to strike against them.

  “Perhaps I shall worry them first,” he hissed. “Threaten them, frighten them. Perhaps make a game of it.” His mouth curled upward in the approximation of a grin, and he crooked a claw in the air, beckoning the wyvern guards.

  “Do what now?” the larger asked.

  “Do something?” the other echoed.

  “Yes,” Khellendros intoned. “My lieutenant, Gale, find him. His lair is to the north. Bring him here.”

  “Do now? Sun out now.”

  “Hot out now,” the larger complained.

  Khellendros growled as the wyverns hurried out into the hateful desert afternoon.

  Chapter 30

  SECRETS

  It was late that night, and they had not yet departed for Palanthas. Under the light of several tall, thick candles that warmly lit the bell-shaped jar and bounced off the polished table, Palin continued to study the spawn. His copious and detailed notes were spread out nearby; some were on the floor. Stacks of unused sheets occupied an adjacent chair.

  A stubble was flourishing across his face, the true makings of a beard, and his eyes were shadowed by fatigue. His stomach quietly rumbled – he’d been so absorbed with the operation that he passed on dinner. The Master had brought him a plate of bread and cheese, a small bowl of sugared berries, and a glass of wine. All of it sat untouched. The spawn eyed it hungrily.

  The Master of the Tower was with Dhamon and his companions several levels below now, quizzing them about their encounter with the creatures, and using a few simple spells to recreate the battle – phantasmal ghosts playacting against the dining room wall, replaying the struggle again and again.

  Dhamon watched, his fists clenched. He did not enjoy experiencing scenes of battle. He wondered if the threat of a new draconian army was the precursor to something more horrific than he had ever experienced.

  High overhead, Palin shook the jar until the angry spawn let loose with another barrage of miniature lightning bolts.

  “Interesting creature, Majere.”

  Palin turned. From the darkest corner of the room, the black-cloaked Shadow Sorcerer emerged. The figure separated itself from the room’s shadows and edged toward the table, its metallic mask sparkling in the candlelight. The Shadow Sorcerer scanned the sheets of parchment, as Palin explained his findings at length.

  “I saw the Red,” the Shadow Sorcerer said. “She is a huge female, larger than any other dragon we’ve observed, perhaps as large as Takhisis. She had no... spawn, as you call it, no draconians. However, she did have a growing
army of creatures – goblins and hobgoblins.”

  “Perhaps all the dragon overlords are amassing armies,” Palin explained. “If they were doing so to fight amongst themselves, I would not be as concerned. But the Dragon Purge is long over – not for several years has there been any fighting each other. And there’s no arguing that their war is against us now. The good dragons are doing what they can, but they have to work in secret.”

  The black-cloaked figure nodded. “Secrets are sometimes necessary.”

  Palin looked at the Sorcerer for a moment, then went back to arranging his notes. “I am concerned about the spawn.”

  “Indeed.” As the sorcerer leaned closer to the jar, the spawn in turn peered into the shadowy recesses of the figure’s hood.

  “We are leaving for Palanthas, a spot outside the city.”

  “When?” the Shadow Sorcerer asked.

  “Now. After I saw to the care of a boy whose village had been attacked, we had only to wait for you.” Palin rose from his chair. “I will gather the others together for transport. We can waste no more time.” He descended the stairs, pausing by a painting of his Uncle Raistlin. He gave everything for magic, for his art, Palin thought. Am I sacrificing myself, too?

  Chapter 31

  AGAINST THE OGRES

  After bidding goodbye to the Master and the Shadow Sorcerer, who suddenly changed their minds about accompanying the group to Palanthas, Palin magically transported the adventurers and himself. Shaon led the way to the city, her footfalls light and hurried. She was spurred by the scent of sea air and the thought of being with Rig again. She kept pace with Fury, and the two of them easily left the others behind.

  Blister bounced along at Palm’s side, pestering her patient companion with seemingly unending questions about all the places he’d been and what the Abyss looked and smelled like and were there very many kender there. Palin answered what he could until he was practically out of breath.