Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  I know you are hurt and angry at being sent away, alone, like this. Please believe me, my darling child, that I would have never done so had I not been convinced that this departure was in your best interests.

  The question you raised in the meeting, concerning the Graygem and its control over us, is a question many of us have been asking. We are not certain that breaking the Graygem is the best course of action. We accede to the wisdom of the Decider because, quite frankly, we do not feel that we have any other choice.

  The Decider has decreed that no hint of what we are planning should be given to the outside world. In that, I think he is wrong. For too long we have kept ourselves aloof from the world. This has resulted—more than once—in tragedy. My own sister …

  At this point, whatever had been written had been blotted over. Prot had never mentioned he had a sister. Where was she? What had happened to her? Usha attempted to decipher the handwriting underneath the blot, but failed. Sighing, she read on. The next part was addressed to Lord Dalamar, master of the Tower of High Sorcery, Palanthas.

  Usha skimmed through polite introductions and a description of how the Irda had managed to steal the Graygem—a story she’d heard countless times and which she now found boring. She skipped down to the interesting part.

  The Graygem rests upon the altar which we have built specially to hold it. At a single glance, the stone seems unpretentious in appearance. Closer examination makes the Graygem more interesting. Its size appears to vary with the beholder. The Decider insists it is as large as a full-grown cat, while I see the stone as the size of a hen’s egg.

  It is impossible to determine the number of facets. We have all of us counted them and none of us has reached the same conclusion. The numbers do not vary by ones or twos, but are radically different, as if each of us had been counting the facets on a different stone.

  We know the gem is chaotic in nature. We know further that the god Reorx has made many efforts to recapture the Graygem, but that these have always failed. The Graygem is beyond his power to keep. Why, then, are we permitted to keep it?

  The Decider’s answer to this question is that the god Reorx is a weak god, easily distracted and undisciplined. That may be true, but I wonder why the other gods have never made any attempt to control the gem. Could it be because they, too, are weak against it? Yet, if the gods are all-powerful, how can this be possible? Unless the Graygem itself possesses a magical power far stronger than that of the gods.

  If that is so, the Graygem is immensely more powerful than we are. And this means that the Graygem is not under our control. It is tricking us, using us—to what end or purpose, I do not know. But I fear it.

  That is why I have included a copy of the history of the creation of the world and of the Graygem, as we Irda know it. You will find, my lord Dalamar, that it differs considerably from other recorded histories, and that is one reason why I deem it essential that this information reach the Conclave of Wizards. Perhaps some clues in regard to the Graygem may be gleaned from this account.

  “Irda history!” Usha sighed and almost rolled the letter back up. “I’ve heard this enough times! I know it by heart!”

  She had learned to read and write the Irda language and also the language known as Common, which the Irda never spoke among themselves, but which was deemed useful for her to know. Though she’d been good at her lessons, Usha had not particularly enjoyed learning. Unlike the studious Irda, she preferred doing things to reading about doing things.

  But she had nothing to do now except whimper and whine and feel sorry for herself. Leaning over the bulwarks, she dipped her handkerchief into the seawater, bathed her hot face and forehead, and felt better. And so, to keep her mind off her sorrow, she continued reading—bored, at first—but gradually becoming enthralled. She could hear Prot’s voice in the words and was, once again, seated at the small table, listening to his account of the creation of the world.

  According to our ancestors,* the three gods as we now know them, Paladine, Takhisis, and Gilean, dwelt together on the immortal plane. These three were siblings, having been born of Chaos, Father of All and of Nothing. Paladine was the eldest son, conscientious, responsible. Gilean was the middle child, studious and contemplative. Takhisis was the only daughter, the youngest child and, some say, the favorite. She was restless, ambitious, and bored.

  She wanted power, wanted to rule over others. She tried but could not gain ascendance over her brothers. Paladine was too strong-willed, Gilean oblivious. And thus we Irda believe that it was at the instigation of Takhisis that the world of Krynn and all life on this plane came into being.

  Takhisis can be quite charming and clever when she wants. She went to her two elder brothers with the idea of creating a world and spirits to dwell within it. To Paladine she laid stress on how these spirits would bring order to the otherwise chaotic universe. Paladine had long been troubled by the fact that their lives had no purpose, no meaning. He and his consort, Mishakal, were pleased with the idea of change, and gave their consent.

  “Of course, you have spoken to Father about this,” Paladine said. “You have obtained his permission.”

  “Oh, of course, my dear brother,” Takhisis replied.

  Paladine must have known that his sister lied, but he was so eager to order the universe that he closed his eyes to the truth.

  Takhisis then went to Gilean. She spoke to him of the opportunities for study, a chance to see how beings other than themselves would react in various situations.

  Gilean found this notion intriguing. Having no consort (we have no record on what happened to her), Gilean consulted with Zivilyn, a god who came from one of the other immortal planes, simply referred to as Beyond. Zivilyn is said to exist in all planes at all times.

  Zivilyn looked ahead and he looked behind. He looked to his left and to his right. He looked up and he looked down and finally pronounced the idea a good one.

  Gilean, therefore, agreed.

  “You have, of course, mentioned this matter to Father,” Gilean asked, as an afterthought, not even bothering to look up from his book.

  “Certainly, my dear brother,” Takhisis returned.

  Gilean knew that Takhisis lied—Zivilyn had warned him she would. But the opportunity for knowledge was too great a temptation, so Gilean closed his eyes to the truth.

  Having obtained agreement from her brothers, Takhisis put her plan into action.

  There lived, in Beyond, a god known as Reorx. Nothing much is known about his past, although there are rumors that some terrible tragedy occurred, which led him to shun the company of other immortals. He dwelt alone on his plane, at his forge, spending his time creating things beautiful and horrific, wondrous and terrible. His delight was in the creation. He had no use for any of the objects he made and, once they were finished, he simply tossed them away. We see them still. One will occasionally fall to the ground. They are known as shooting stars.

  Takhisis went to Reorx and praised his creations.

  “But what a pity,” she said, “that you should throw them away! I have in mind a plan. You will create something that will not bore you, but will offer you new challenges every day of your immortal life. You will create a world and populate this world with spirits, and you will teach these spirits all the skills that you know.”

  Reorx was captivated at the thought. At last, his endless creating would have some use, some benefit. He readily agreed.

  “You have cleared this with the Father?” he asked Takhisis.

  “I would have never come to you otherwise,” she responded.

  Reorx—simple and guileless—had no idea that Takhisis was lying.

  The gods gathered together: Paladine, Mishakal, and their children; Gilean and his only natural daughter, along with his adopted children; and Takhisis, her consort, Sargonnas, and their children. Reorx arrived, set up his forge, and—in the midst of the dark and endless night of Chaos—he placed a chunk of red-hot, molten metal and struck the first blow with h
is hammer.

  At that moment, the two brothers were forced to open their eyes.

  Takhisis had not consulted Chaos, Father of All and of Nothing. Well aware that he would be opposed to her plan to bring order to the universe, she had deliberately kept her plot secret from him. And there is no doubt that her brothers knew it.

  Chaos could have destroyed his children and their plaything then and there, but—as parents will—he decided it would be better to teach them a lesson.

  “You will indeed create order,” he thundered, “but I will see to it that order will breed discord, both among you and among those who will dwell in your world.”

  Nothing could be done to alter what had taken place. Sparks from Reorx’s hammer had already become the stars. Light from the stars had given birth to living spirits. Reorx himself forged a world wherein these spirits could dwell.

  And it was then that Chaos’s curse was made manifest.

  Takhisis wanted the newly made spirits under her control, intending to order them about and force them to do her bidding. Paladine wanted the spirits under his control, intending to nurture them and lead them in the paths of righteousness. Gilean could see no advantage to either—in an academic sense. He wanted the spirits to remain free, to choose whatever path they would walk. Thus, the world would be much more interesting.

  The siblings quarreled. Their children and gods from the other planes were drawn into the battle. The All-Saints War began.

  The Father of All and of Nothing laughed, and his laughter was terrible to hear.

  At length, Paladine and Gilean realized that the battle might well destroy all of creation. They allied forces against their sister and, though they could not achieve total victory, they at least forced her to come to terms. She reluctantly agreed that all three should rule the new world together, maintaining a balance between them. Thus they hoped to end the curse cast on them by their Father, Chaos.

  The three gods decided that each of them would give the spirits gifts that would enable them to live and prosper in the new-formed world.

  Paladine gave the spirits the need to control. Thus they would work to gain control over their surroundings and bring order to the world.

  Takhisis gave the spirits ambition and desire. Not only would the spirits control the world, but they would seek constantly to make it better—and to better themselves.

  Gilean gave the spirits the gift of choice. Each would have the freedom to make his or her own decisions. No one god would possess absolute power.

  All these gifts were good, none of them bad—unless each is taken to extremes. The need to control, taken to extremes, leads to fear of change, suppression of new ideas, intolerance of anything different.

  Ambition, taken to extremes, leads to the determination to seize power at all costs, enslavement. Desires can become obsessions, leading to greed, lust, avarice, and jealousy.

  Freedom—taken to extremes—is anarchy.

  The spirits achieved physical form, springing from the imaginations of the gods. From Paladine’s mind came the elves—his ideal race. They delight in controlling the physical world, shaping it to their will. They live long, change little.

  Takhisis imagined a race of supremely beautiful creatures, all as ambitious and selfish as herself. These were the ogres and, as their hungers increased, their beauty was consumed. But they are immensely strong and very powerful.

  We, the Irda, might be said to be creations of Takhisis, for we were the original ogres. We saw what was happening to our people, and some of us turned to Paladine, begged for his help. He enabled us to break away from the Dark Queen, but the cost was dear. We could not live in proximity to other races, lest we should succumb to temptation and fall once again. We would be an isolated, lonely people, delighting in our isolation, perpetuating our own loneliness. Even coming together to produce progeny would be difficult for us, and so our people would never be numerous. All these conditions we accepted in order to escape the fate of our brethren. And therefore the world knows nothing of us—or what they do know is false.

  Gilean imagined into being the race of humans. They have the shortest life span, are the quickest to change, and are easily swayed to one side or the other.

  The Father, for his own amusement and to increase the likelihood of turmoil, created the animals. He greatly irritated his children by giving many of the animals advantages; chief among these being the dragons, who possess wisdom, intelligence, long life, magic, strength, and formidable weapons.

  Since the arrival of dragons upon Krynn, the other mortal species have either fought the dragons or endeavored to ally with them.

  Thus there came about the creation of balance in the world. The elves thought of themselves as the embodiment of “good,” while the ogres were the epitome of “evil.” (It is interesting to note that, in the ogre view of the world, this is entirely opposite. It is the ogres who see themselves as “good,” the elves and those like them, who advocate the extermination of the ogre race, as “evil.”) Humans, in the middle, could be moved to join either side and did so—constantly.

  Thus it is the humans, in whose blood mingle all the gifts of the gods—the need to exert control, ambition, desires, and the freedom of choice to use these in beneficial or detrimental ways—who race forward through time, creating, changing, altering, destroying. This is called progress.

  It was also during this time that magic came into the world. Three of the children of the gods had grown up together and been unusually close: Solinari, son of Paladine and Mishakal; Nuitari, son of Takhisis and Sargonnas, and Lunitari, daughter of Gilean. All the gods possess the power of magic, but in these three that power was enhanced by their love for magic and their dedication to this art. This formed a bond between them, who were unlike in almost all other aspects.

  When the All-Saints War occurred, these three were under pressure from their various parents to join one side or the other. The three cousins feared that the war would destroy the thing they loved most: magic. They took a vow to be true to the magic, faithful to each other, and they left the pantheon of the gods. Assuming mortal form, they walked the face of Krynn.

  Each cousin found a follower among the mortals and to that follower each gave the gift of magic. This gift could be passed on to other mortals, and those mortals could, in times of need, call upon the three gods for assistance. Then the three cousins left Krynn, yet remained near it, circling in the heavens, watching over with unblinking eyes the mortals who use their gifts. Mortals know these “eyes” as Krynn’s three moons: the silver Solinari, the red Lunitari, and the unseen (except by his followers) Nuitari.

  We Irda possess immensely strong magical powers, but we are not certain from whence the power emanates. We are not aligned with the wizards of Krynn and are, in fact, considered “renegades.” You see us as a threat, a danger to your orders. Our magic is one of the many reasons we shun contact with other species. Magic is crucial to our survival. Every Irda is born with it. Magic is in our blood, so to speak, and comes as naturally to us as do the other senses: seeing, smelling, hearing, touching, tasting. Are we asked to explain how we see? I see no reason for the world to demand that we explain how we perform what are, in their eyes, miracles.

  To continue with the history of creation.

  The new world was young and wild, as were the spirits of the mortals inhabiting it. The elves worked hard and subdued their part of the world. The ogres learned to adapt to theirs. Humans sought to craft their part and improve on it. Reorx—a lonely god—offered to assist them. It is said that the only time Reorx is truly happy is when he is mingling and interfering in the lives of mortals.

  Reorx taught a group of humans innumerable skills, which included the technique of forging steel. The elves and ogres both coveted the metal, which neither of them knew how to produce. They came to the humans to buy steel swords, knives, tools. The humans grew immensely proud of their abilities and began to flaunt them. They forgot—in their pride—to honor Reorx,
their teacher. They even shunned the god when he came among them, laughing at him because he was far shorter than they, ridiculing his interest in the very craft by which they were gaining so much wealth.

  Infuriated, Reorx cursed these humans. He took from them the skills he had taught them, left them only with the desire to invent, build, construct. He decreed that these humans should be short, wizened, and ridiculed by other races. He changed them into gnomes.

  During this time, known as the Age of Twilight, the balance of the world—which had been relatively stable—began to shift. No longer content with what they had, humans began to covet what their neighbors had. The ogres, incited by Takhisis, wanted power. The elves wanted to be left alone and were ready to fight to preserve their isolation.

  Hiddukel was one of the gods of Beyond brought to this plane by Takhisis to increase her hold on humans. Hiddukel is a deal maker. He loves to deal and barter and is extremely good at it. He saw in the tilting of the scales of balance a way to increase his own power. War would be good for business, bringing about increased production of weapons, armor, food to feed the armies, and so forth. Since he was also a trader in the souls of the dead, Hiddukel could see a handsome profit to be made in that area as well.

  Hoping to further the turmoil, Hiddukel went to Chislev, goddess of woodlands and nature, and—in his best persuasive manner—convinced her that doom was at hand.

  “It’s only a matter of time before war breaks out,” he said dolefully. “And what will that do to the environment? Forests chopped down to make siege towers, saplings turned into bows and arrows, fields scavenged or set ablaze. We need to put a stop to this feuding among the races, once and for all. For the sake of nature, of course.”

  “And what’s your stake in all this?” Chislev demanded. “I can’t believe you are interested in the welfare of baby bunnies.”