The History of Krynn: Vol I

by Dragon Lance

  Paharo shook off his astonishment and got his scouts moving. They trotted away, spears on their shoulders, while Paharo wended his way through the immobile acolytes to speak to Tiphan.

  “Tosen,” he said, glancing up at the midmorning sun, “are your people going like this? Soft clothing and bark sandals won’t last a day on the plain. Thorns and sharp stones will tear them to bits.”

  The ghostly white face regarded him coolly. “All will be well, child. Believe in the power I command, as my children do.”

  Paharo refrained from pointing out the Sensarku leader was only four years older than he was. Instead he said, “Very well, Tosen. We’ll scout ahead. When we reach the mouth of the valley, we’ll wait for you.”

  “Thank you,” said Tiphan. At his command, his acolytes readied themselves to march.

  Paharo jogged after his comrades, shaking his head. They had wasted good daylight waiting for Tiphan and his people, and when the Sensarku finally arrived, they were burdened with so much clothing and heavy supplies they couldn’t possibly make fast time. If the raiders attacked, the Sensarku would be easy prey unless Tiphan’s power actually could save them. For the sake of all Yala-tene, Paharo desperately hoped the Tosen could do the things he boasted.

  *

  The pit was stifling. Rain had filtered through the sod, reducing the floor of the hole to cold mud. Amero and Beramun huddled together in front of Duranix, listening to the drumming of horses’ hooves as the raiders crossed the plain searching for them.

  While Beramun shivered in silent misery, Amero pressed an ear to the dragon’s cavernous chest. Duranix’s heart labored slowly, like the muffled thunder of a dying storm.

  What happened? Amero asked silently. Did you fight Sthenn?

  Not Sthenn, although I saw him. One of his humans pricked me with a poisoned spear. Sthenn excels in making noxious potions. This is one of his worst.

  What can we do?

  Duranix exhaled hard. There was a moist rattle in his lungs. I removed the spearhead, hut the poison is in mg blood. Sthenn said it wouldn’t kill me, hut I don’t trust him. If I don’t find treatment soon, I fear the worst.

  I won’t let you die! Amero laid a hand on his friend’s massive foreleg. Duranix’s scaly skin felt uncharacteristically moist and warm.

  The dragon did not answer. Duranix’s eyes were closed, and his heartbeat was still abnormally slow, his breathing labored.

  With nothing to do but wait, Amero and Beramun at last succumbed to exhaustion. Lying in the dirt in front of Duranix, they slept.

  When Amero woke, the air was dank and hot. Drenched in sweat, he yearned for a cool breeze and a drink of water. He climbed the side of the pit until his head bumped the layer of sod covering the hole. He found a crack and managed to work his fingers through. Peering through the resulting opening, he saw the starry sky. Night had fallen.

  He slid back down to the bottom again and felt around blindly until he located Beramun.

  Though he tried to be gentle, she awoke with a start and cried out.

  “Shh!” he hissed. “It’s me, Amero!”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to wake you quietly. It’s dark out, and I thought we could use some fresh air.”

  “Oh, yes!”

  She pushed past him and scrambled up the slope, bumping her head into the tangle of roots and dirt atop the pit. After a moment of fruitless struggle, she grumbled, “How do we get out of here?”

  “Stay still. I’m coming up.”

  He joined her at the top and found the seam again. Together, they heaved aside a triangular piece of sod. Cool air flooded over them. Both gasped in relief and shivered at the sharp temperature change.

  Beramun put a foot on Amero’s thigh to push herself out, but he grabbed her ankle.

  “Careful!” he whispered. She nodded curtly, climbed out, and Amero scrambled after her.

  The storm had moved on, but tattered remnants of clouds periodically hid the stars. In the distance, the plain to the east was dotted with many small red flames – the campfires of Zannian’s band.

  They found a brook flowing below a nearby hill. Joyously, they drank their fill, then washed the grime from their feet, hands, and faces. Amero wondered if the other boys had escaped. Beramun told him she’d sent Paharo off on a raider’s horse to warn the village, but he had no idea what had become of Udi and the rest.

  Somewhere in the dark a wolf howled. Amero stood up, alert to the danger.

  Beramun kept washing. “He’s leagues away,” said the girl, pouring a double handful of fresh water over her feet. “Don’t be so nervous.”

  Running a hand through his damp hair, he said, “It’s been a long time since I was hunted.”

  “I’ve been running since the night the raiders killed my family.”

  “My family was killed by Sthenn’s followers, too, many years ago.”

  “By raiders?”

  “No. Yevi.” Amero sat down on the bank of the brook and told the story of his fight with the gray marauders.

  “The dragon saved you,” Beramun mused, looking back toward the pit where Duranix lay. “I wonder why?”

  “Sthenn’s creatures were in his territory. When he came to investigate, he found me. He destroyed the yevi pack only because he didn’t want Sthenn poaching on his territory. It was no more than that. Later, I think he saw me as an interesting animal to keep around.”

  “Like we keep dogs?”

  Amero smiled. “Something like that. Eventually, we became friends.”

  A heavy scraping sound interrupted their storytelling. This time they both stood up, alarmed. Amero saw the dark bulk of the dragon crawling toward them. The sight of the mighty Duranix, dragging himself along on his belly with his two front limbs, stunned him profoundly.

  The two humans stood by helplessly as the bronze dragon drew near. He dipped his snout into the stream and gulped loudly. While Duranix was busy drinking, Amero inspected the dragon’s wound.

  “It’s festering,” he reported. “I should lance it.”

  Duranix snaked his head around. “Will that help?”

  “It will release the pressure.”

  The dragon blinked once, eyelids clicking. He laid his chin down on the grass and closed his eyes. “Proceed.”

  Amero drew his bronze dagger. Beramun exclaimed, “You’re going to cut him?”

  “The poison needs to be bled out. It won’t cure him, but it may make him more comfortable.” Amero gently probed the edges of the wound with his fingers. “I ought to have a fire going, to cauterize the wound, but...” He shrugged. A fire was impossible with the raiders so close by.

  Beramun took several steps back. “You’re crazy! Hurt him, and he’ll tear your head off!”

  Amero ignored her. He put the point of the dagger against the sealed wound and pushed. Duranix didn’t even wince. Muscles straining, Amero worked the dagger in deeper, pressing until black blood coursed from the cut, soaking his hands. Swallowing the nausea in his throat, Amero held his place and cut deeper.

  Suddenly, Duranix’s injured leg flexed backward in a powerful kick that tore a deep gouge in the turf. Amero flung himself out of the way, and the hard talons missed his belly by only a finger’s width.

  Duranix raised his head. “I felt that!” he rumbled.

  “Sorry,” said Amero, flat on his back on the ground.

  “Don’t be! That leg has been numb for days!” Reptilian brow furrowing, Duranix tried to lift his injured limb. Quivering with effort, it rose slowly, then fell back.

  “That’s good!” Amero pushed himself up on his elbows. “Try again.”

  The dragon bent back and took hold of his poisoned leg with his foreclaw and worked it back and forth. He hissed in pain as more poisoned blood surged from the wound. The grass and stream were stained by the spreading, foul pool. Holding her nose, Beramun retreated to higher ground.

  “That’s better,” Duranix said. “It burns like fire, but at leas
t I can feel it!”

  “Can you walk?”

  Duranix tried to stand and failed. “No. It’s still too weak.”

  Amero threw handfuls of water over the dragon’s leg, washing the black blood away. As he labored, he called up to Beramun, “Do you know what larchit looks like?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need as much as you can find to make a poultice.” Amero rinsed his dagger in the stream and wiped it on the grass. “Here. Cut me some, please.” She took the weapon in one hand and, still holding her nose with the other, departed.

  “I wonder if she’ll come back,” Duranix murmured, head down on the ground once more.

  Amero finished washing the dragon’s leg. “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Sthenn has marked her for his own, Amero. Sooner or later, she’ll betray you to him.”

  Amero sat down by the dragon’s head. “Can’t you spare her some trust? I’ve been with her for days, and she’s done nothing wrong. Oh, she miscounted the raiders, but...” He waved a hand dismissively. “She could’ve betrayed us to them a dozen times, but she didn’t. She’s been nothing but what she seems – a girl, alone in the world, pursued by evil forces.”

  In spite of his fevered exhaustion, the dragon cocked a metallic brow at his friend and teased, “Irresistible, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  They listened to the crickets awhile, then Duranix’s nostrils flared. “I’m starving. Have you anything to eat?”

  Amero looked in his shoulder pouch. “A little trail bread, some elk jerky —”

  “Give me the meat.”

  The jerky was in two folded strips, each as long as Amero’s forearm. Enough to feed a man for three or four days, for the dragon it was less than a bite. It disappeared quickly into Duranix’s maw.

  “We’ll have to move soon,” Amero said. “We don’t stand a chance against Zannian’s band by daylight.”

  “You should go ahead on your own. I’m too slow. It will be easy for them to track me.”

  “I won’t leave you behind.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I won’t be able to defend you from the whole band.”

  “Who asked you to? Have you ever considered that I might be able to defend you?”

  “Silly human! Think of the female, then. Do you want to see her killed?”

  Amero’s argument died, the anger on his face fading into worry. He could take responsibility for himself and for the dragon, but not for Beramun.

  Duranix closed his eyes tiredly. “You see? You must go without me.”

  Before Amero could reply, Beramun returned with an armload of larchit leaves. They found smooth stones on the creek bank and set to pounding the fleshy green leaves to paste. Amero smeared several handfuls of the paste on Duranix’s wound. “You know this won’t cure me,” said the dragon.

  “I know,” Amero said.

  “Then why do it?”

  “It will soothe your hurt. Isn’t that enough?”

  Duranix lowered his head to the ground. “Stupid man,” he said, but there was no rancor in his words.

  Beramun said little until Amero had finished ministering to his giant friend, then she asked, “What next?”

  “We must get to Yala-tene,” he replied, rinsing the sticky larchit sap from his hands. “If we can get Duranix to the village, our healers can treat him.”

  She chewed her lower lip and scuffed a heel in the dirt. “It’s a long way to the mountains. Do you think we can evade Zannian’s riders over that distance? I don’t.”

  “You may be right. You should go.” Amero cleaned the dagger again and returned it to its sheath. “If you strike out due west, you might avoid the raiders altogether.”

  She folded her arms. “You’re telling me to leave?”

  “Yes. I want you safe.”

  Beramun jumped up, eyes flashing. “Who said you could decide my fate? Those vipers out there wiped out my family. I will see them served the same!”

  “Don’t shout,” murmured Duranix, eyes still closed. “They’ll hear you.”

  She flushed, then snatched up Amero’s spear. “I’m hungry,” she declared more quietly. “I’ll bring back game.”

  She stalked off, leaving Amero staring after her. Before he could speak his confusion, a low, bass rumble rose from Duranix’s throat.

  Amero circled around to glare at the dragon face to face. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “You’re making progress, boy. If we survive, she may give herself to you yet.” Hot puffs of air from Duranix’s chuckling stirred Amero’s hair.

  “That’s not funny.” A smile crept across Amero’s face even as he said it. “Boy” indeed! Though he was thirty-eight, in

  Duranix’s company Amero frequently felt like the thirteen-year-old he’d been when they met.

  Soon, his laughter was mingling with his friend’s.

  *

  Beramun returned from her hunt empty-handed. The countryside was barren, she reported, everything chased away by Zannian’s mounted patrols. By then the eastern sky was blushing toward dawn. It was clear they would be dangerously exposed come daybreak.

  Amero and Beramun cast about for some spot where they could make a stand. Hiding in the pit again was out. The sod was beginning to sag under the weight of the previous day’s rain. The sunken rim of the hole was a dead giveaway. The bottom of the hole was knee-deep with mud as well.

  While the two humans traded increasingly desperate suggestions, Duranix struggled to his feet. He had feeling in his hind legs again, but they were still too weak to support him. Stretching his wings wide, he could tell by the pain in his shoulders he couldn’t take to the air, either.

  He lifted his head as high as he could and surveyed the distant raiders’ camp. The sun, veiled by a lingering cloud, was rising behind the camp, and he could see the humans stirring. It was only a matter of time before their mounted scouts found his little group.

  Duranix shifted slightly on his forelegs. Mud squelched between his claws. Looking at the viscous soil, a marvelous, far-fetched idea blazed through the fevered haze in his mind. Digging his claws into the mud, he bowed his neck until his jaw rested on the wet turf. From deep within himself, he summoned the fire inside.

  Duranix’s brazen skin grew hotter and hotter. The mud on his limbs and belly dried to a gray powder and flaked off. Steam rose around him. He continued to pour his depleted strength into the damp soil, heating it until the previous day’s heavy rains were given up in the form of mist.

  Amero was still searching for a likely place to hold off the raiders when he noticed the shallow creekbed was rapidly filling with fog. Already, all he could see of Duranix was the arch of his spine and the top of his bowed neck. Fascinated, Amero watched the mist fill the ravine, creeping up the hillside and flowing down the other side. A light breeze helped move the mist across the open plain. He was soon surrounded by one of the thickest fogs he’d ever seen.

  “Amero? Amero, are you there?”

  “Beramun! Over here!”

  She appeared out of the murk like a black-haired wraith. “Duranix is weaving a mist to hide us from the raiders!”

  They worked their way back to the creek and used it to guide themselves to the dragon. Golden morning light filtered through the fog, tinting it the exact color of Duranix’s scales, and they missed the dragon completely. They backtracked. In the end they found him only because Beramun walked directly into his chest.

  “My ancestors!” she exclaimed. “He’s become fog himself!”

  “Not quite,” Duranix replied. “But close enough for our purpose.”

  “How long will the mist last?” asked Amero.

  “It will remain only as long as the wind and sun allow. Once gone, I cannot renew it. My strength is used up.”

  Amero grabbed Beramun’s hand. “Then we’d better get moving.”

  *

  Before breaking camp, the Jade Men left behind a macabre honor for their master: a mound of severed heads,
taken from the slain prisoners. It stood higher than a man, and the green-garbed warriors forced the recaptured slaves to march past it. Nacris had not ordered the deed, but she approved it. The surviving captives trudged silently by the gruesome pile, their earlier pride in the escape completely gone. A few paces beyond the grisly warning, the mist swallowed them.

  “Move on,” Nacris commanded. Four Jade Men hoisted her litter onto their shoulders and followed their comrades into the fog.

  A dark shape passed overhead. Fog swirled, and Sthenn, in full winged form, landed beside the column of Jade Men. Nacris ordered her bearers to stop.

  “Greetings, Master,” she called. “Queer weather, isn’t it? At sunrise the day was as clear as a mountain stream.”

  “So it was.” Sthenn stretched his ancient limbs and preened. “This is no ordinary fog. It stinks of metal.”

  Nacris regarded him blankly.

  “Duranix, fool!” he barked.

  “The bronze dragon lives? I thought he was poisoned.”

  “He is. By this subterfuge he seeks to hide from my scouts.”

  “I warned you not to judge him lightly.”

  The green dragon cocked his misshapen head and snarled, “Have a care, old rodent! Task me with your warnings, and you may lose another limb.”

  Nacris paled, the scar on her cheek standing out vividly. Her fear seemed to satisfy him.

  “The air is drying,” he said, his angry tone gone. “The fog won’t last much longer. When it clears, I will find poor little Duranix.”

  He was right. For the first time in hours, Nacris saw faint shadows appear.

  “Have the Jade Men spread out,” the dragon told her. “If they find Duranix before Zannian’s men do, I’ll grant you a boon, my little cripple.”

  With a few running strides, he took to the air. Amber mist spun behind him, quickly obscuring him from view.

  “You heard the Master,” she said to the Jade Men. “Find that dragon!”

  All but her bearers departed, and Nacris sat back in her litter. They were two days away from the Valley of the Falls. In two days, her revenge would truly begin.