The Dragons

by Doug Niles

  “A horn, you say? Like a trumpet?”

  “Yes, Grandfather!” Agon said with a vigorous nod.

  The gold dragon remembered the ram’s horn, safely stored in the grotto, but he knew that another of the horns existed. That one was borne by the wild elves, and long ago Darlantan had told him its purpose: the Kagonesti could use the ram’s horn to summon help from the silver dragons, in a call that was audible to the wyrms of argent alone.

  “Here come Callak and Auricus,” Agon noted, and the venerable gold saw that the pair were also flying upward, laboring hard toward the ancient’s lofty vantage. Both were stiff-necked, straining their wings in obvious urgency.

  Immediately Aurican hurled himself into the air, and his wings responded as needed, sweeping outward to channel and guide the wind, easily steering his flight. Callak and Auricus fell into formation as the elder dived past them, trailed by Agon and Dazzall.

  “Did you hear something?” Aurican asked the young silver.

  “Yes, Grandfather—a horn, with a strangely compelling sound.”

  “But you heard nothing?” the ancient demanded, turning to his golden scion. Auricus shook his head. “That seals it, then. What you heard was the ram’s horn of the Kagonesti. Gather the others. We have important matters to discuss.”

  Before he could settle to the ground on the floor of the Valley of Paladine, Aurican was startled by a shimmer of magic below. A two-legged figure appeared instantly, and he realized that someone had teleported here. As he landed, the mighty gold saw that the newcomer was an elf. A river of blood trickled down the flank of the battered figure, and the dragon saw that his robes of regal silver had been rent and torn by cruel violence. The fellow looked up, took a weak step forward, and then fell to the ground.

  Aurican scrutinized the stranger even as his gold dragon body shifted and shrank. Quickly the elder stood upright as he adjusted to his familiar elven body. He saw that the stranger had been gouged by a sword thrust to the side, and noticed by the irregular tears on the rich garment that the blade’s edge had been cruelly serrated—in other words, a weapon that no elf would wield.

  “Greetings, honored elf,” Aurican said softly as Auricus and Callak came to rest behind him. They had not yet mastered the talent of the shapechange, and their metallic, reptilian heads rose over his shoulders as he regarded the battered newcomer. Dazzall and Agon held back slightly but also listened.

  “Can you hear me? Do you come from Silvanost?” pressed the elder dragon. He had lived for a while in Silvanos’s city, already a legendary place of crystal palaces and towers rising from an island in the midst of a mighty river. Now Aurican pictured that pastoral place, which had been peaceful for centuries, and the golden serpent felt a shiver of deep, chilling alarm.

  At the name, the elf’s eyelids flickered. His right eye was swollen shut, distorted by a purple bruise and cruel gouges on his cheek, but his left opened to regard Aurican with an expression of palpable terror.

  “Again … she comes again,” croaked the elf, a spatter of bloody drool trickling from his lip.

  “Who?” asked Callak and Auricus at the same time, urgency hissing in the words.

  “Crematia,” declared Aurican, without any question in his voice. He looked again at the sword wound, then sniffed. The taint of acid was a sulfuric stench, faint but unmistakable, the effects visible in the holes that had been burned in the trailing edge of the elf’s robe. “And she has brought her kin-dragons, awakened from the heart of the Khalkists.”

  The wounded elf arched his back, his jaws clenching soundlessly as he thrashed at an imaginary foe. Aurican leaned forward, touching him gently upon the forehead, and the fellow’s struggles immediately ceased. His good eye opened, but the madness was gone. Instead, he stared with a desperate, pleading intensity.

  “They came from the sides … all of them, red and black and white and the rest. And on the ground, ogres, charging from the woods … and warriors like snakes, snakes with arms and legs, bearing cruel swords. Those came from the swamp and butchered all of us who tried to find shelter there. We fought them … we killed and we died … but there were so many.…”

  “What about Silvanos?” asked Aurican. “Does he live?”

  “Aye, at last word before I was carried away. The three brother mages were there … the three robes … red and black—and the white one, too. Their magic was the only thing that enabled us to survive the first onslaught … walls of sorcery around Silvanost. The city stands, for now. They sent me here to find Aurican … to beg for help!”

  The elf’s words burned with shame at the admission, but again the serene figure of the altered gold dragon laid a hand upon the injured messenger’s forehead. At the touch, the battered fellow once more drew a deep breath and apparently relaxed.

  “You have done your job well, my friend. You must rest here, and grow strong. Know that I shall fly in response to your need.”

  Abruptly Aurican was a dragon again, rearing high above the younger serpents behind him. He raised his mouth to the skies and, with a trumpeting bray, summoned the other nestmates from their hunts and meditations among the peaks of the High Kharolis.

  “Who are these brother mages?” asked Auricus.

  “Three elves I knew centuries ago,” the elder replied. Clearly he remembered the quest to the realm of gods, and the gifts that had led to spell magic on Krynn—and the three moons that, ever since, had loomed in the night sky. “They are still alive, and still mighty. Indeed, it sounds as though their magic is the best hope of elvenkind—at least, until I can get there.”

  Soon the brood of his own offspring and his nieces and nephews had joined him, several dozen bright males and females of copper, brass, and bronze, together with Callak and his brother Arjen, and Auricus. One of the females, Dazzall’s sister Krayn, took charge of the wounded elf, bearing the messenger into the depths of the undermountain and its sacred grotto.

  “I return to Silvanesti,” announced Aurican, fixing his stern glare upon the restless wyrmlings. “While I am gone, I expect that all—”

  “We’re coming with you!” declared Callak, rearing up with a fluttering of silver wings, staring belligerently into the eyes of his ancient tutor.

  The other wyrmlings cringed back, expecting an explosive response, but Aurican merely sighed heavily, sending a puff of warm smoke emerging from his nostrils.

  “You cannot,” declared the elder. “You—all of you—are too young. Bold and brave, I know, but neither will keep you alive against the cruel dragons of the Dark Queen. And though our nest is here, we have no eggs, no clutch to guard. It is too great a risk, for we gamble with the whole future of our kind should I let you come to war.”

  “What worth is a future if we allow the Dark Queen’s dragons to rule the world?” demanded Auricus quickly, raising a question with vexing logic as he came to his brother nestling’s aid.

  Despite himself, old Aurican allowed himself a measure of pride in his youngster’s argument as he replied. “There is no cause to panic. It is not out of the question that I myself, with the aid of the brother mages, may deal with the threat.”

  “But this is not your task alone!” asserted Callak. “Is not Crematia responsible for my father’s death, as well as those of our other patriarchs?”

  “And you’ve told us how, during that war, the red dragon was not captured in the gem of life-trapping with the others!” silver Arjen insisted. “Now is our chance to slay her!”

  “There are many wyrms of evil, are there not?” pressed crippled Agon, bobbing his head high to be heard in the midst of his silver siblings. “Surely you could use our help. At the very least, we could guard your back and warn you of ambush!”

  “No more argument!” snapped Aurican sternly. “This is an affair of ancients, and my business to complete. Now go, all of you, and guard the grotto!”

  “But there are other kin-dragons who don’t know about the danger,” Callak objected. “Flash and Brunt are gone, and Th
arn! And my sister Daria, too …”

  “Then that is your task! Find your nestmates and bring them here!” insisted the ancient gold. “I command you, in the name of the Platinum Father. Gather the kin-dragons to the grotto and await my word.”

  Then, without a backward glance, he took wing toward Silvanesti … and war.

  Chapter 21

  Pride

  2693 PC

  “How do we find Tharn and Flash? And who knows where Brunt’s lair is?” Callak asked, forlornly watching Aurican’s golden shape winging into the sky. Abruptly the gold dragon vanished from sight, and the younger wyrms knew he had teleported to Silvanesti.

  Their bronze nestmate laired far away, though none of the other dragons knew exactly where. It was common knowledge that Tharn, on the other hand, had claimed the ancient copper lair of Blayze. The location of that cavern was also secret, but at least they knew it was somewhere in the eastern foothills.

  “Well, we’ll have to split up. Tharn and Flash will be in the foothills somewhere,” said Auricus. “As to Brunt, he always flies west from here, and everybody knows he goes all the way to the coast.”

  “Daria spends a lot of time hunting on the eastern part of the range,” Callak remembered. “Ill see if I can find her. Maybe she can help locate the coppers.”

  “And I’ll teleport to the coast,” Auricus added with a nod of agreement. “I’m the only one who can get there fast, and that gives me the best chance of finding Brunt. The rest of you wait in the grotto, as Aurican said.”

  “Let’s go!” Callak cried, leaping into the air and angling for the crest of the High Kharolis. He looked back to see Auricus disappear and the other dragons take wing toward the tunnel leading into the grotto.

  The silver male flew with all haste over the snow-swept ridges of the highest part of the range. He relished the icy air against his scales, the pristine frostiness of each deep breath. The exhilaration of flight, as always, brought him a sense of serene contentment, even joy. But he knew that he couldn’t complete his task in these lofty reaches, so as soon as the terrain beneath him spilled toward the lowlands, he tucked his wings and tipped into a shallow dive.

  How should he find his silver kin-dragon? He tried to think, knowing that Daria was the biggest of the silver females and had demonstrated a streak of independence as powerful as any of her male nestmates. Callak knew she favored hunting in the wooded, venison-rich heights of the foothills, far enough from the plains so that human hunters rarely ventured there. Once, after warning him not to plunder her game, she had shown Callak several of her favorite valleys, and it was to these that he now glided.

  He searched diligently, gliding through the hours of daylight, seeking some glimpse of silver scales. Callak flew high enough to see over the serpentine ridges of the foothills, but not so lofty that he would miss details on the ground. He took a deer each night at sunset, generally selecting a yearling with a plentiful layer of fat. Yet despite the good eating and pastoral scenery, he grew increasingly agitated by his failure to locate Daria as the days passed.

  After the fourth sunrise of his search, he saw a flash of reflection from a ledge just below the summit of a rounded mountaintop. Stroking upward, he found the silver female coiled regally in a rock-bound aerie, sleeping off the aftereffects of her feasting. Daria was growing plump and shiny, Callak saw, and he was startled by the allure he saw in that glimmering, serpentine form. He wondered why it had been so long since he had sought her, or desired her company.

  But this was a time for more pressing business. He brayed a greeting as he swept downward, and the female quickly raised her head, blinking drowsily as he came to rest beside her. Curling his tail onto the ledge, Callak bowed, lowering his neck to parallel hers.

  “What is it, Cal? I was sleeping!” she snapped petulantly.

  “Trouble,” he said, shaking off any further objections with his firm tone and stiff-winged bearing. Briefly he told her of the elf’s report and the summons of the ram’s horn. “Aurican wants us all to go back to the grotto and wait for him there.”

  Nodding, Daria uncoiled with supple grace. “Are all the others coming as well?” she asked, stretching her wings, allowing her tail to jut stiffly behind her.

  “Brunt, Flash, and Tharn are gone to their lairs. We know that Tharn, at least, comes over here. I wanted to ask you if you have any idea where we might find him.”

  “Yes!” Daria said, her eyelids lowering shrewdly. “He doesn’t know that I found his lair, but I’ve seen him there several times.”

  After a short flight, the two silvers landed on the smooth lip of a lofty cliff. Callak was surprised to see a shadowy cave mouth in the mountain wall before him. The cavern was dark, and moist, musty air, tainted with the sulfuric scent of acid, wafted from it. “It’s completely screened by the overhang,” he remarked. “You can’t see it at all from the air.”

  “Or from the ground, either—not if you’re dead!” The voice, speaking in the copper dragon’s unmistakable growl, came from the darkness within.

  Instinctively Callak whirled toward the opening, wings spread, his own head jutting forward on his stiffened neck. He felt the rumble of frost in his belly and stood alert, waiting for any sign of Tharn’s blast of acid, ready to reply with a withering attack of his own ice.

  “Wait!” cried Daria. “We’re here with news!” Quickly she told the copper about the return of the chromatic dragons. “We’ve got to gather in the grotto!”

  “Aurican has gone to do battle. He has commanded us to wait, to be ready,” Callak added.

  “I’m safe right here!” snarled the copper dragon. “I have no intention of going back to the nest like some pathetic wyrmling, seeking my sire’s protection!”

  “But together we’re stronger—we have a better chance!” the silver male argued.

  “Then you go back and be ‘together,’ ” replied Tharn mockingly.

  “What about Flash?” Daria asked, her tone surprisingly calm against the heat of the males’ emotion. “Can you warn your brother of the danger?”

  “Flash?” Now Tharn’s voice was filled with unmistakable fury. “If you see him, kill him for me. He stole one of my treasures two winters ago!”

  The two silvers tried for the rest of the day to convince their recalcitrant kin-dragon to accompany them, but he adamantly refused. Finally, in disgust, they took off and flew side by side toward the ancient lair of their clan.

  Callak felt the hot, angry eyes of the copper burning into his tail as they flew toward the sunset. Strangely, the sensation lasted even after the valley of Tharn’s lair was long out of sight.

  Chapter 22

  Tharn’s Quandary

  2693 PC

  Deathfyre watched the pair of silver shapes until they were long out of view. The two dragons of argent were big, but they flew like neophytes, wyrms who didn’t acknowledge the possibility of danger anywhere in the sky. The red felt a tingle of pure hatred, and only with difficulty did he restrain the urge to attack. Still, he knew his purpose here, and he wouldn’t risk that mission for a momentary act of violence, however tempting the targets.

  When they were gone, he allowed the spell of invisibility to fall from his scales. Deathfyre relished the sight of his serpentine, blood-red body, and only reluctantly had he employed magic to mask his beauty from the world. Still, the concealment had served a useful purpose. He was certain that the silvers hadn’t seen him when they winged with such urgency out of the low, tree-shaded valley.

  Regretfully, much of his current mission required him to travel in a state of invisibility or other magical disguise, such as the body of the soaring condor that he often employed. Deathfyre was proud of his crimson shape, but he was able to overcome that pride in order to serve the needs of concealment—and to hasten the chances of winning this war.

  For a moment, he reflected on the grand, swift invasion that he and Crematia had led against the elves of Silvanesti. The bakali had proved to be loyal and effecti
ve troops, and with the skies overhead filled with chromatic dragons, they had accompanied the ogres in an irresistible onslaught. The northern border of Silvanesti had been breached in a series of swift battles, the elven garrisons caught before they could entrench. The magical barriers that had risen along the invasion routes into the forest realm had given the attackers only momentary pause, as the lightning and acid breath of blue and black dragons had quickly breached those arcane barriers.

  When Deathfyre had left the battlefields a few seasons earlier, the armies had been surging southward with ruthless violence. They should be nearing the island capital of the elven realm by now, and it was Deathfyre’s devout hope that he would complete his mission and be able to return to the south in time for the final destruction. That conquest, so long overdue, would be Crematia’s greatest triumph—and the dawn of Deathfyre’s mastery.

  But his mother was right about one thing, a lesson she had carried with her from the Abyss: They must always strive to find their strongest enemy and destroy him. And, despite the power of the three mages, that most lethal enemy was unquestionably represented by the metal dragons of Paladine, and their golden patriarch in particular.

  Two crimson shapes popped into view beside Deathfyre, the pair of female red dragons coiling sinuously beside their leader as they inspected the valley beyond the concealing ridge.

  “Did you mark the lair?” asked Cynysi, her tongue flicking along Deathfyre’s neck as she whispered the question.

  “Yes, my pet, though I cannot know for certain if the two silvers were leaving their grotto or returning to it.”

  “How shall we tell?” asked Kyri, jealously pressing close at his other side. “Perhaps they are flying back to the great lair, not departing from it Then we shall have lost them.”

  “I have a way to find out. Mask yourself, my females, and wait for me here.”

  Once again Deathfyre regretfully cast his invisibility spell, not daring to be discovered. Taking to the air, diving through the long shadows cast by the setting sun, he investigated the place that the silvers had left behind with such precipitate haste. He had been embarked on this search for a long time, but now he allowed himself to hope, for—thanks to his lucky glimpse of the two silvers—it seemed he might be drawing close to his goal.