by Dragon Lance
Aurican looked down in surprise, blinking at the soft illumination that radiated from the stone.
“A nice trick, that – pretty to see, simple to work. But that is the extent of magic that remains in the world. There is no use in searching nor in seeking. The power of true, world-shaking sorcery has vanished, never to return. It faded with the passing of your mothers, leaving Krynn a colder, darker place.”
“Perhaps I will bring it back,” Auri mused, so softly that only Darlantan could hear, though Patersmith looked at the golden wyrm sharply as Aurican spoke more firmly.
“I will. I say this now, to my tutor and my nestmates: Spell magic will again belong to our world.”
CHAPTER 3
FIRST WINGS
(ca. 7000 PC)
Thirteen metallic shapes padded silently along the winding passageway, following the bow-legged figure of their mentor as he led them from the grotto at a surprisingly fast jog. Aurican was in the lead, of course. In fact, the sleek and golden dragon paced directly beside the tutor, his proud golden head upraised, nearly as high off the floor as Patersmith’s own bewhiskered visage.
Darlantan was right behind. He strained to see past his brother’s shoulder, succeeding because he was slightly larger than Auri. The other eleven nestlings trailed behind, loping gracefully to keep up on what their tutor had promised would be a memorable excursion.
Biting back a twitch of irritation, Dar saw Patersmith turn and speak softly to Aurican. The silver dragon couldn’t hear what was said, and he felt the familiar resentment Auri was always getting special tidbits of learning from their tutor.
Usually it had something to do with magic. All the dragons had been impressed by the stories of the sorcerous powers of their matriarchs, but none had latched on to those tales with the obsessive intensity of Aurican. Many times had he boasted to Darlantan of his intention to discover the ancient magic that had been lost with the elder dragons, until at last the silver had grown short-tempered every time he heard about his brother’s pointless wish.
Often Darlantan reminded himself of Patersmith’s lesson: Aurican’s obsession with magic made him different, and was therefore good. Even when it seemed bad, like Blayze’s temper, or Smelt’s endless chatter, these were the traits that would make them strong. At least, so the bearded tutor said.
But Dar’s musings were interrupted as the procession approached the end of the tunnel. Before him. the Darkness Beyond expanded to overwhelm his senses. He advanced and stood poised lightly at the lip of the lofty precipice.
The gulf of shadowy space had become familiar to the young dragons, and especially to Darlantan, in the vast expanse of time since Patersmith had come to join him. Whereas Auri was entranced by the tutor’s stories of magic, Dar found himself raptly listening to descriptions of the world beyond their vast but shadow-cloaked environment.
He imagined an expanse of bright skies and was desperately curious about the sun, of which he had heard much but never seen even a trace. Too, he was intrigued and fascinated by the whole idea of weather – water and ice tumbling from above, heavy clouds billowing thicker than the smoke from Patersmith’s pipe across the sky. All of that sounded suspiciously like magic, and he wanted to see, to learn for himself, if these things that the tutor was suggesting were really true.
“Darlantan, my silver son,” declared the tutor.
Now it was his turn to enjoy the smith’s favor, and Dar wasted no time in nudging Auri aside.
“You shall be the first. All the world awaits beyond, and now it is time for you to take wing.” His eyes rose and took in the rest of the brood. “Time for all of you to fly.”
Several of the dragons, Aysa in particular, gasped nervously at the prospect, but Darlantan’s wings stood stiffly to the sides, beating rhythmically as he readied himself for that first leap. His heart pounded as he looked at the vast darkness with eagerness and anticipation.
“Remember, your body will know what to do, though your mind will not. Therefore, don’t try to think. Let yourself sail through the air and fly, my children!”
Without hesitation or reflection, Darlantan hurled himself into the void and, for a heart-stuttering second, commanded his wings to beat, to carry him upward. Immediately he plunged nose downward, then flipped over onto his back, careening wildly as wind whipped past his face, lashing across his scales. He strove to bend the unwilling membranes of his wings. Only then did he remember the words of Patersmith to relax, allowing his body to direct itself without interference from his mind.
Instinct took over, and those leathery membranes, as shimmering bright as quicksilver, scooped into the air. Dar’s nose came up, and he felt the pressure of wind as his stroking wings found their natural pace. Soon he was climbing, banking, turning, feeling the air soar past with a rush of speed. He wheeled through a graceful arc, back toward the grotto’s ledge, and for the first time in his life, he regarded that sheltered cavern from a distant perspective.
The nook was burrowed into the side of a massive stone pillar, a formation that was very wide above, then tapered to a narrow shaft below, so that the column dangled like a gigantic fang from the ceiling. Only the black tunnel was visible, but he knew that within lay the sacred grotto.
Below was a giant lake, extending into the far distance of the Darkness Beyond. That darkness was much less threatening when one was a part of it, Darlantan reflected, rearing back as he approached the ledge. Flaring his wings, he landed in a skidding slide that knocked Oro and Aysa tumbling and hissing to the sides. Darlantan spun about and pranced to the edge of the cliff with the confident air of one who has just demonstrated his innate superiority.
He was giddy with a consuming sense of exhilaration. Only the cautionary raising of Patersmith’s hand held him from lunging forth and once again taking flight. But the tutor was eminently fair, and his guidance was not to be questioned. Darlantan knew it was someone else’s turn.
Gradually the silver dragon realized that his twelve nestmates regarded him with expressions ranging from awe to astonishment. Aurican’s inner eyelids lowered as his golden head swung appraisingly from the gulf of darkness to the taut, stiff-winged form of his silver Kin-dragon.
“Splendid start,” Patersmith declared, puffing on his pipe and beaming at Darlantan, whose wings fanned excitedly. “Now, who’s to be next?”
Kenta and Turq were ready and bobbed their silver heads, but it was Aurican who stepped to the rim of the cliff and sprang into space with a prodigious leap. He swept smoothly into a dive, spiraling and circling downward until he was lost in the shadows. After many heartbeats, he reappeared, slowly working his way back upward.
By then Kenta had flown, like Darlantan in a momentary tumble of silvery scales before she found her natural rhythm. Turq followed her sister with similar success, and then one after another the young dragons threw themselves into space. With varying levels of struggle they took wing, gliding over the water and then swooping upward with steadily growing confidence.
Copper Blayze, nimble as ever, swept outward with confidence. His wings stroked with keen and instinctive skill as he pressed them downward, banked easily, then climbed steadily toward the ceiling of the lofty cavern.
Smelt, in a flash of brass scales, swept past Blayze and tugged at his wing, sending the hot-tempered copper spinning toward the lake in a spitting, twisting bundle of fangs and claws. It wasn’t until very much later that Smelt even dared return to the ledge, and even then the fuming Blayze hurled himself at his nestmate, almost sending both of them tumbling toward the dark waters of the lake.
Aysa was the last to fly. Not surprisingly, she tumbled straight down from the perch. The bronze female fell so rapidly that Darlantan dived after her, certain she would smash into the waters far below. Though the silver male strained to catch up, in the end, Aysa learned on her own, spreading her wings and leveling off just a short distance above the still, inky-dark expanse of the giant pool.
Soon the wyrms had gathered back a
t the ledge, where Patersmith regarded them with expressions of contentment. He puffed and smoked, smiling gently, though to Darlantan, the old teacher’s eyes seemed to moisten with melancholy.
“Come with us!” urged the silver dragon. “We’ll fly throughout the Darkness Beyond!”
“Alas.” Patersmith held up his arms. “These are very poor wings. No, without magic, it is impossible for me to fly with you. But it is time that all of you soared into the world and witnessed the wonders of which you have only heard.”
“But how do we find the world through the darkness?” asked Kenta.
“There is a cave, similar to the door cave of your own grotto.” The tutor pointed into the distant darkness. “Find it and fly, my wyrmlings, and you will find yourself in the world of light and sky.”
“We go!” cried Darlantan, his wings buzzing audibly as he tensed for a leap into space. Excitement brought him to a fever pitch. It was fantastic to fly, but even more wonderful to think he would at last get a look at the sun and the sky and the whole world.
“Yes, go! You will fly to the Valley of Paladine. Beyond the darkness, you shall see this sacred place, sheltered in the High Kharolis. There you may hunt and sleep and fly, safe from the intrusions of the world.”
Darlantan led the way, though Aurican and the other two silvers flew just behind his tail. The others strung out through the darkness as the dragon followed his memory of Patersmith’s pointing finger. A light breeze moved the air of this vast place – a place that was really something far more concrete than the vague entity he had known as the Darkness Beyond. Already Dar could see the looming wall of this great, subterranean chamber. A sheet of dark rock rose from the edge of the still water, rising high overhead as it domed outward to form the cavern’s lofty, vaulted ceiling.
Abruptly Aurican veered to the side, wings straining in a visible effort to gain speed. Darlantan tried to think, to remember. … Was it possible he was mistaken in his memory of Patersmith’s indicated direction?
Then he understood: It was the wind! Aurican had sensed that breeze and known that it must originate from the passageway to the outside world.
Before the others could react, their golden sibling swept into a shadowy passage looming in the vast wall. Now it was Darlantan behind his nestmate’s tail, straining to overtake Aurican. Yet even in his frustration, he retained a measure of caution. He knew he couldn’t try to fly past Auri in this narrow passage, or more likely than not they’d both go crashing into the walls or ground.
And then they were into a realm that was so broad, so breathtakingly open that the young dragon forgot all about his petty duel. The blue of the sky was deeper, more perfect than any color Darlantan had ever imagined. Clouds puffed, impossibly white and serene in the azure vault that swept overhead. Mountain peaks surrounded the file of gliding, awestruck dragons, and these summits were etched into such precise clarity that Dar felt as though he should be able to reach out and touch each one. He saw, however, that the valley was wide, and every one of the lofty peaks was a considerable distance away.
The heights fully encircled this place. Even as they flew, the dragons looked upward to the horizon in all directions. Glaciers sparkled in the sunlight, draping the highest peaks in regal cloaks of ice. Cornices, like diamond-studded crowns, crested these ridges, and where the daylight sparkled along the summits, the gleaming reflection was brighter than fire.
Best of all, brightening the scene everywhere, glowing from the heights of the sky, shone the ball of brilliant illumination … and Darlantan knew that he had at last discovered the sun.
The Irda
(ca. 6320 PC)
Prologue
SONG OF THE OGRE
The Keeper of the History of the Ogre stood alone and unassisted on the platform, though she was as ancient as the stone walls of the castle. She had buried the bones of all her friends, of her children, and still she lived, because of the Gift, which she alone possessed.
She opened her mouth, and it came, the Gift of the gods. A voice as pure and clear, as bright and beautiful, as stars shining in the darkness of a night sky. The ribbon of sound pierced the air. The words wove the History of the World, of the Ogre, firstborn of the gods.
By the hammer of the gods, the universe was forged from chaos.
From the sparks of the anvil, the spirits were scattered,
Cast to glimmer and dance in the heavens.
From the forge of the gods, the world was wrought,
Playground of the gods.
The spirits were singing, their voices like starshine,
Shining like the gods themselves, pieces of the heavens.
The gods looked upon them and found them most wondrous.
The gods looked upon them and coveted their souls.
The world shuddered.
Battlefield of the gods.
The High God looked down upon what his god children had destroyed;
His wrath was mighty, his pain transcendent.
From the fire of his anger,
From the divine breath of Takhisis,
From the heart of the flames, the races were born.
Takhisis, Sargonnas, Hiddukel, gods of the Dark,
Made the stony Ogres.
Gifted with life, gifted with beauty,
The Ogres turned their faces earthward.
Children of the stars.
Firstborn of the gods.
Paladine, Mishakal, Those of the Light,
Made the willowy Elves.
Cursed them with goodness, cursed them with virtue.
Those of the middle, Gilean, Reorx, Gray gods all,
Made the plodding humans, set them to serve.
Watchers of the darkness are the mighty Ogres,
Cast down to rule the world from the lofty mountains.
Hair colored of the shadows, eyes like the moon,
Fairest of all and truly immortal.
Singers of starshine, masters of all created.
Rulers of the low ones; the animals, the elves, the humans.
Within our hearts, all dreams are dark.
Within our souls, all pain is pleasure.
We turn our faces upward.
Born of the stars, chosen by the gods.
Chapter 1
A GOOD AND PERFECT GIFT
“My dear, you know that magic, beyond that necessary for daily needs, is forbidden to all but the Ruling Families.”
Lord Teragrym Semi, eldest of the five Ruling Council members of the Ogres, considered by many in the royal court to be the most powerful, plucked a piece of fruit from the bowl sitting at his elbow.
“Yes, Lord, I know. But … there have been exceptions.”
Eyes cast down, the young Ogre who kneeled before him allowed her voice to trail off. Her eyes, so strange and black, stole upward, then back down too quickly to give offense.
Teragrym pretended to examine the fruit, searching the fuzzy red skin for blemishes, then tossed it back into the bowl with a sneer. He did not deem it vital to mention that the punishment for disobedience of the law was death. He assumed she was willing to risk death.
Magic danced in the air about her, well concealed but barely controlled. Powerful enough so that he could sense it without casting a “seeing” spell. Just that feeling, coming from one not of a Ruling Family, was enough to condemn her.
Her fingers twitched, and he imagined he could see the spell she was longing to cast dancing between them. It would probably be something spectacular, designed to impress. No doubt she knew more than just spells of fire and water, of mischief and play.
For a race renowned for its beauty, she was striking and exotic, dark where most of the Ogres were silvery. Pale of flesh where the norm was emerald and indigo and raven black. Her black eyes were almost elven, and there was a warmth to the gem-green paleness of her skin that reminded him of the pale-pink flesh of humans. It was an almost repellent mixture and strangely compelling.
With her billowing robes
spread about her in a perfect fan, she made a fetching picture. A perfect, ripe flower, offering herself. “You are very beautiful. Young. Healthy. Well placed at court. You could make a brilliant match. Be secure. Why do you risk telling me this?”
“I can make a match for myself, yes,” she whispered. “Or my uncle will make one for me, and himself. Perhaps it would even be a brilliant one, with a well-suited family. But I do not wish to be some family’s adornment.”
Teragrym snorted, almost laughing in her face. This particular Ogre did not strike him as being malleable enough to be anyone’s adornment.
“I would never be allowed to learn magic as I wish to.” She glanced up, smiled with beguiling sweetness. “Please, Lord, families have been known to take in someone who showed promise, who could be of use … who would vow undying devotion in exchange for … considerations.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “That is true. At least, it was, before the clans were united by the council. Now …” A great many things had changed in the time since the Ruling Council had gained power and the king’s supremacy had declined. “But now, I think such a person would have to convince me that I need a mage in my household who is not of my clan.”
“My lord, you toy with me.” There was sharpness in her tone, carefully controlled disapproval. Perhaps even a hint of anger.
He responded with mild rebuke, thin-lipped lechery. “Did you expect there would be no obstacles?”
“I will meet any test you see fitting!”
He laughed, delighted in spite of himself. With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he cast a spell. Wordlessly, so effortlessly it was mocking.
A snarling, slavering thing appeared at her elbow. A creature of shadows and decay.
She flinched, edging away from the vision. With the slightest effort, she snuffed the enchantment, using a powerful “dispel.”
Her triumph was short-lived.