“Magic!” Targonne swore viciously. “Beryl is obsessed with magic. She thinks of nothing else. I have gray-robed wizards who spend all their time hunting for some blamed magical Tower just to placate that bloated lizard. Assaulting the citadel! What of the pact of the dragons? ‘Cousin Malystryx’ will most certainly see this as a threat from Beryl. This could mean all-out war, and that would wreck the economy.”
Targonne rose to his feet. He was about to give an order to have messengers standing by, ready to carry this news to Malys, who must certainly hear of this from him, when he heard more shouting in the hallway.
“Urgent message for the Lord of the Night.”
Targonne’s aide, looking slightly frazzled, entered the room.
“What is it now?” Targonne growled.
“A messenger brings word from Marshal Medan in Qualinost that Beryl’s forces have crossed the border into Qualinesti, pillaging and looting as they march. Medan urgently requests orders. He believes that Beryl intends to destroy Qualinesti, burn the forests to the ground, tear down the cities, and exterminate the elves.”
“Dead elves pay me no tribute!” Targonne exclaimed, cursing Beryl with all his heart and soul. He began to pace behind his desk. “I cannot cut timber in a burned-out forest. Beryl attacks Qualinesti and the citadel. She is lying to me and to Malys. Beryl intends to break the pact. She plans war against Malys and against the Knighthood. I must find some way to stop her. Leave me! All of you,” he ordered peremptorily. “I have work to do.”
The first messenger bowed and left to eat and take what rest he could before the return flight. The second left to await orders. The aide departed to dispatch runners to wake other messengers and alert the blue dragons who would carry them.
After the aide and the messengers had gone, Targonne continued to pace the room. He was angry, infuriated, frustrated. Only a few moments before, he had been working on his accounts, content in the knowledge that the world was going as it should, that he had everything under control. True, the dragon overlords imagined that they were the ones in charge, but Targonne knew better. Bloated, enormous, they were—or had been—content to slumber in their lairs, allowing the Dark Knights of Neraka to rule in their names. The Dark Knights controlled Palanthas and Qualinost, two of the wealthiest cities on the continent. They would soon break the siege of Sanction and seize that seaport city, giving them access to New Sea. They had taken Haven, and he was even now drawing up plans to attack the prosperous crossroads town of Solace.
Now, he watched his plans topple in a heap like the stack of steel coins. Returning to his desk, Targonne laid out several sheets of foolscap. He dipped his pen into the ink and, after several more moments of profound thought, began to write.
General Dogah
Congratulations on your victory over the Silvanesti elves. These people have defied us for many years. However, I must warn you, do not trust them. I have no need to tell you that we do not have the manpower to hold Silvanesti if the elves decide to rise up in a body and rebel against us. I understand that they are sick and weakened, their population decimated, but they are tricky. Especially this king of theirs—Silvanoshei. He is the son of a cunning, treacherous mother and an outlawed father. He is undoubtedly in league with them. I want you to bring to me for interrogation any elves you believe might be able to provide me with information regarding any subversive plots of the elves. Be discreet in this, Dogah. I do not want to rouse the elves’ suspicions.
Lord of the Night,
Targonne
He read over this letter, dusted the wet ink with sand to hasten the drying process, and set it aside. After a moment’s thought, he set about composing the next.
To Dragon Overlord Malystryx, Your Most Exalted Majesty etc., etc.
It is with great pleasure that I make known to Your Most Illustrious Majesty that the elven people of Silvanesti, who have long defied us, have been utterly vanquished by the armies of the Dark Knights of Neraka. Tribute from these rich lands will soon be flowing into your coffers. The Knights of Neraka will, as usual, handle all the financial dealings to relieve you of such a mundane burden.
During the battle, the green dragon, Cyan Bloodbane, was discovered to have been hiding in Silvanesti. Fearing your wrath, he sided with the elves. Indeed, it was he who raised the magical shield that has so long kept us out of that land. He was slain during the battle. If possible, I will have his head found and delivered to Your Grace.
You may hear certain wild rumors that your cousin, Beryllinthranox, has broken the pact of the dragons by attacking the Citadel of Light and marching her armies into Qualinesti. I hasten to assure Your Grace that such is not the case. Beryllinthranox is acting under my orders. We have evidence that the Mystics of the Citadel of Light have been causing our own Mystics to fail in their magic. I deemed these Mystics a threat, and Beryllinthranox graciously offered to destroy them for me. As to Qualinesti, Beryllinthranox’s armies are marching in order to join up with the forces of Marshal Medan. His orders are to destroy the rebels under the leadership of an elf known as the Lioness, who has harassed our troops and disrupted the flow of tribute.
As you see, I have everything under control. You need have no cause for alarm.
Lord of the Night,
Morham Targonne
He dusted sand on that letter and immediately launched into the next, which was easier to write due to the fact that there was some truth to this one.
To Khellendros the Blue Dragon, Most Esteemed, etc., etc.
You have undoubtedly heard that the great green dragon Beryllinthranox has launched an attack against the Citadel of Light. Fearing that you may misunderstand this incursion into lands so close to your territory, I hasten to reassure your lordship that Beryllinthranox is acting under my orders in this. The Mystics of the Citadel of Light have been discovered to be the cause of the failure of our Mystics in their magic. I would have made the request of you, Magnificent Khellendros, but I know that you must be keeping a close eye on the gathering of accursed Solamnic Knights in the city of Solanthus. Not wanting to call you away at this critical time, I requested that Beryllinthranox deal with the problem.
Lord of the Night,
Morham Targonne
Postscript: You are aware of the gathering of Solamnic Knights at Solanthus, are you not, Exalted One?
His last letter was easier still and took him very little thought.
Marshal Medan,
You are hereby ordered to hand over the capital city of Qualinost intact and undamaged to Her Grace, Beryllinthranox. You will arrest all members of the elven royal family, including King Gilthas and the Queen Mother, Laurana. They are to be given alive to Beryllinthranox, who may do with them what she pleases. In return for this, you will make clear to Beryllinthranox that her forces are to immediately cease their wanton destruction of forests, farms, buildings, etc. You will impress upon Beryllinthranox that although she, in her magnificence, does not need money, we poor unfortunate worms of mortals do. You have leave to make the following offer: Every human soldier in her army will be granted a gift of elven land, including all buildings and structures on the land. All high-ranking human officers in her armies will be given fine homes in Qualinost. This should curb the looting and destruction. Once matters have returned to normal, I will see to it that human settlers are moved in to take over the remainder of elven lands.
Lord of the Night,
Morham Targonne
Postscript 1: This offer of land does not apply to goblins, hobgoblins, minotaurs, or draconians. Promise them the equivalent value in steel, to be paid at a later date. I trust you will see to it that these creatures are in the vanguard of the army and that they will take the heaviest casualties.
Postscript 2: As to the elven residents of Qualinesti, it is probable that they will refuse to give up their ownership of their lands and property. Since by so doing they defy a direct order of the Knights of Neraka, they have broken the law and are hereby sentenced to death
. Your soldiers are ordered to carry out the sentence on the spot.
Once the ink had dried, Targonne affixed his seal to each letter and, summoning his aide, dispatched them. As dawn broke, four blue dragonriders took to the skies.
This done, Targonne considered going to his bed. He knew, however, that he would not be able to rest with the specter of that accounting mistake haunting his otherwise pleasant dreams of neat charts and columns. He sat down doggedly to work, and as often happens when one has left a task upon which one has concentrated, he found the error almost immediately. The twenty-seven steel, fourteen silver, and five coppers were accounted for at last. Targonne made the correction with a precise pen stroke.
Pleased, he closed the book, tidied his desk, and left for a brief nap, confident that all was once more well with the world.
2
Attack on the Citadel of Light
eryl and her dragon minions flew over the Citadel of Light. The dragonfear they generated crashed down upon the inhabitants, a tidal wave that drowned courage in despair and terror. Four large red dragons flew overhead. The black shadows cast by their wings were darker than the deepest night, and every person the shadow touched felt his heart wither and his blood chill.
Beryllinthranox was an enormous green dragon who had appeared on Krynn shortly after the Chaos War; no one knew how or from where. Upon arrival, she and other dragons of her kind—most notably her cousin Malystryx—had attacked the dragons inhabiting Krynn, metallic and chromatic alike, waging war upon their own kind. Her body bloated from feeding off the dragons she had killed, Beryl circled high in the sky, far above the reds, who were her minions and her subjects, observing, watching. She was pleased with what she saw, pleased with the progress of the battle.
The citadel was defenseless against her. Had the great silver dragon, Mirror, been present, he might have dared defy her, but he was gone, mysteriously vanished. The Solamnic Knights, who had a fortress on Schallsea Isle, would make an heroic stand, but their numbers were few, and they could not hope to survive a concentrated attack from Beryl and her followers. The great green dragon would never have to fly within range of their arrows. She had only to breathe on them. A single poisonous blast from Beryl would kill every defender in the fort.
The Solamnic Knights were not going lie down and die. She could count on them to give her servants a lively battle. Their archers lined the battlements as their commanders strove to keep up their courage, even as the dragonfear unmanned many and left them weak and trembling. Knights rode with haste through island villages and towns, trying to quell the panic of the inhabitants and help them flee inland to the caves that were stocked and provisioned against just such an attack.
In the citadel itself, the Citadel Guards had always planned to use their mystical powers to defend themselves against a dragon attack. These powers had mysteriously waned over the past year, and thus the Mystics were forced to flee their beautiful crystal buildings and leave them to the ravages of the dragons. The first to be evacuated were the orphans. The children were frightened and cried for Goldmoon, for she was much loved by the children, but she did not come to them. Students and masters lifted the smallest children in their arms and soothed them, as they hastened to carry them to safety, telling them that Goldmoon would certainly come to them, but that she was now busy and that they must be brave and make her proud of them. As they spoke, the Mystics glanced at each other in sorrow and dismay. Goldmoon had fled the citadel with the dawning. She had fled like one mad or possessed. None of the Mystics knew where she had gone.
The residents of Schallsea Isle left their homes and streamed inland, those debilitated by dragonfear urged and guided by those who had managed to overcome it. In the hills in the center of the island were large caves. The people had fondly believed that they would be safe from the ravages of the dragons inside these caves, but now that the attack had come, many were starting to realize how foolish such plans had been. The flames of the red dragons would destroy the forests and the buildings. As flames ravaged the surface, the noxious breath of the huge green would poison the air and the water. Nothing could survive. Schallsea would be an isle of corpses.
The people waited in terror for the attack to begin, waited for the flames to melt the crystal domes and the rock walls of the fortress, waited for the cloud of poison to choke the life from them. But the dragons did not attack. The reds circled overhead, watching the panic on the ground with gleeful satisfaction but making no move to kill. The people wondered what they were waiting for. Some of the foolish took hope, thinking that this might be nothing more than intimidation and that the dragons, having terrified everyone, would depart. The wise knew better.
In his room located high in the Lyceum, the main building of the crystal-domed Citadel of Light, Palin Majere watched through the enormous window—actually a wall of crystal—the coming of the dragons. He kept watch on the dragons while he desperately attempted to put back together the broken pieces of the magical artifact that was to have transported himself and Tasslehoff to the safety of Solace.
“Look at it this way,” said Tas, with maddening kender cheerfulness, “at least the dragon won’t get her claws on the artifact.”
“No,” said Palin shortly, “she’ll get her claws on us.”
“Maybe not,” Tas argued, ferreting out a piece of the device that had rolled under the bed. “With the Device of Time Journeying being broken and its magic all gone—” He paused and sat up. “I guess its magic is all gone, isn’t it, Palin?”
Palin didn’t answer. He barely heard the kender’s voice. He could see no way out of this. Fear shook him, despair gnawed at him until he was weak and limp. He was too exhausted to fight to stay alive, and why should he bother? It was the dead who were stealing the magic, siphoning it off for some unknown reason. He shivered, reminded of the feeling of those cold lips pressed against his flesh, of the voices crying, begging, pleading for the magic. They had taken it … and the Device of Time Journeying was now a hodgepodge of wheels, gears, rods, and sparkling jewels, lying scattered on the rug.
“As I was saying, with the magic gone”—Tas was still prattling—“Beryl won’t be able to find us because she won’t have the magic to guide her to us.”
Palin lifted his head, looked at the kender.
“What did you say?”
“I said a lot of things. About the dragon not having the artifact and maybe not having us because if the magic is gone—”
“You may be right,” Palin said.
“I am?” Tas was no end astonished.
“Hand me that,” Palin instructed, pointing.
Appropriating one of the kender’s pouches, Palin dumped out its contents and began to hastily gather up the bits and pieces of the artifact, stuffing them into the pouch.
“The guards will be evacuating people into the hills. We’ll lose ourselves in the crowd. No, don’t touch that!” he ordered sharply, slapping the kender’s small hand that was reaching for the jeweled faceplate. “I must keep all the pieces together.”
“I just wanted a memento,” Tas explained, sucking on his red knuckles. “Something to remember Caramon by. Especially since I won’t be using the artifact to go back in time now.”
Palin grunted. His hands shook, and it was difficult for his twisted fingers to grasp some of the smaller pieces.
“I don’t know why you want that old thing anyhow,” Tas observed. “I doubt you can fix it. I doubt anyone can fix it. It looks to be extremely broken.”
Palin shot the kender a baleful glance. “You said you had decided to use it to return to the past.”
“That was then,” said Tas. “Before things got really interesting here. What with Goldmoon sailing off in the gnome’s submersible and now being attacked by dragons. Not to mention the dead people,” he added, as an afterthought.
Palin didn’t like the reminder. “Make yourself useful at least. Go out in the hallway and find out what’s going on.”
Tas did as
he was told, heading for the door, although he continued to talk over his shoulder. “I told you about seeing the dead people. Right when the artifact busted. Didn’t I? They were all over you, like leeches.”
“Do you see any of them now?” Palin asked.
Tas glanced around. “No, not a one. But then,” he pointed out helpfully, “the magic’s gone, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Palin snapped tight the strings on the bag that held the broken pieces. “The magic is gone.”
Tas was reaching for the handle when a thundering knock nearly staved in the door.
“Master Majere!” a voice called. “Are you inside?”
“We’re here!” Tasslehoff called.
“The citadel is under attack from Beryl and a host of red dragons,” the voice said. “Master, you must make haste!”
Palin knew very well they were under attack. He expected death at any moment. He wanted nothing more than to run, and yet he remained on his knees, sweeping his broken hands over the rug, anxious to ascertain that he had not overlooked a single tiny jewel or small mechanism of the broken Device of Time Journeying.
Finding nothing, he rose to his feet as Lady Camilla, leader of the Solamnic Knights on Schallsea, strode into the room. She was a veteran with a veteran’s calmness, thinking clearly and matter-of-factly. Her business was not to fight dragons. She could rely on her soldiers at the fortress to undertake that charge. Her business in the citadel was to safely evacuate as many people as possible. Like most Solamnics, Lady Camilla was highly suspicious of magic-users, and she regarded Palin with a grim look, as if she did not put it past him to be in league with the dragons.
“Master Majere, someone said they thought you were still here. Do you know what is happening outside?”
Palin looked out the window to see the dragons circling above them, the shadows of their wings floating over the surface of the flat, oily sea.
Dragons of a Lost Star Page 2