Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  “No one gives me credit for having a heart,” Hiddukel complained.

  “That’s because it’s difficult to see beneath the oil slick of your words,” Chislev retorted.

  “If you must know, war would be extremely upsetting to the financial markets. The value of gold would plunge; it would be practically worthless. Farmers can’t get their goods to market if the markets are being invaded. And I’m very fond of rabbits.”

  “In stews, maybe.” Chislev sighed. “Yet, you do have a point. I’ve seen the growing restlessness among the races, and I’ve been concerned about it myself. I’ve spoken to Gilean, but you know what that’s like! He never looks up from that book. He’s always writing, writing, writing.”

  “Try to get a word in with Takhisis.” Hiddukel sniffed. “Either she’s off with Sargonnas, watching minotaur bash each other over the head or she’s bringing on plagues, famine, floods, what have you. She hasn’t time for the likes of us anymore.”

  “What do you suggest we do? I take it you have a plan.”

  “Don’t I always, my tree-hugging friend? If neutrality were the ruling force in the world, then the balance would remain constant, never shift. Agreed?”

  “I suppose,” Chislev said cautiously, not trusting Hiddukel, but unable to argue the point. “But I don’t see—”

  “Ah! Go to Reorx. Ask him to create a gem that will hold within it the very essence of neutrality. This gem will serve as an anchor to the neutral position. Neutrality will become the strongest force in Krynn, overwhelming the two opposite extremes. They’ll be bound to the center, will not be able to deviate far from it.”

  “And what do we do with this gem once it’s created. Give it to you for safekeeping?” Chislev was a gentle goddess, but she had a tendency to be sarcastic, especially around Hiddukel.

  “Heavens no!” Hiddukel was appalled. “I wouldn’t want such a responsibility! Give it to one of your own number to keep. That would be most sensible, wouldn’t it?”

  Chislev regarded Hiddukel intently, but he met her scrutiny with the utmost innocence, exhibiting sincere anxiety over the fate of the world. It is said that Queen Takhisis herself has lost in many deals with Hiddukel.

  The result of this conversation was that Chislev left her forest and wandered the world in mortal form. What she saw disturbed her greatly. Steel forges burned angry red in the night; elves polished their newly attained swords; humans counted their money; ogres practiced lopping off heads. Grieved, Chislev determined that something must be done.

  Chislev considered discussing this matter with her consort, Zivilyn, the god who can see all planes, all times, future and past. But Chislev knew from experience that it was difficult getting a straight “yes” or “no” answer from Zivilyn, who was always making up his mind to do one thing, then—seeing it from another angle—changing his mind to do something else—seeing that from another angle—and changing his mind again until he finally ended up doing nothing at all.

  This matter need action, and Chislev decided to take it. She went to Reorx herself.

  None of the gods ever visited Reorx, one reason he spent so much of his time chumming around with humans. He was amazed and pleased to have a visitor, particularly a visitor of such delicate beauty and sweet temperament as Chislev.

  She, in turn, was overwhelmed by the attention Reorx paid to her, as he bustled about his disorderly dwelling, preparing cakes, stumbling over the furniture, losing the teapot, offering her anything in the universe she wanted to eat.

  Chislev suffered a twinge of guilt, for she saw the god’s loneliness, and reproached herself for having neglected him. Vowing to visit more often in the future, Chislev drank her tea and presented her request.

  Reorx was only too happy to comply. She wanted a gem? She should have a gem. A hundred gems! The finest in the universe.

  Chislev, blushing, replied that she wanted only one gem, a plain gem, a gem that would hold within it the essence of neutrality.

  Reorx stroked his beard, frowned in thought. “And what would that be, exactly?”

  Chislev was somewhat perplexed. “Why, the essence of neutrality would be … well …”

  “Chaos?” Reorx suggested.

  Chislev considered the matter, glancing about somewhat fearfully lest the Father of All and of Nothing—the embodiment of Chaos—should overhear. “Could we capture a small part, do you suppose? Not much. Just enough to anchor neutrality in this world.”

  “Consider it done, Madam,” Reorx said with magnificent aplomb. “Where shall I deliver this gem?”

  Chislev had long pondered this matter. “Give it to Lunitari. She is closest to the world. She is continually involved with the mortals and their doings. She will be the best to hold it.”

  Reorx agreed. He kissed her hand, fell over an ottoman, upset his teacup, and, face flushed, left immediately for his forge.

  Chislev, relieved of her worries, returned thankfully to her forest.

  How Reorx managed to capture and encapsulate a bit of Chaos into the gem is not known. But, according to what happened later, he was obviously able to do so. He produced what he called the “Graygem” and, when it was finished, took it to Lunitari for safekeeping. She was attracted to the gem immediately, and set the gem in the center of the red moon. She rarely let it out of her sight, for the stone had the strange effect of causing all who looked upon it to covet it.

  This included, unfortunately, the gem’s creator, Reorx. Once he’d given the stone to Lunitari, Reorx was disconcerted to discover that he dreamed of the gem nightly. He regretted having parted with it. He went to Lunitari and humbly requested that she give it back.

  Lunitari refused. She, too, dreamed of it nightly and liked to wake to see it shining in the red moon.

  Reorx fretted and fumed and at last hit upon a way to retrieve the Graygem for himself. Assuming mortal form, Reorx appeared among the race he had created, the gnomes. He chose one gnome, whose inventions had been least destructive to life, limb, and property values, and showed this gnome—in a dream—the Graygem.

  Of course, the gnome wanted the gem more than anything else on Krynn, with the possible exception of a multiheaded, steam-driven screwdriver. The latter being unattainable (stuck in committee), the gnome decided to capture the Graygem. How he went about it is told in other stories, but the recovery effort involved a magical ladder, various winches and pulleys, a magical net, and a bit of a boost from Reorx.

  Suffice it to say, the gnome captured the Graygem, removing it in a magical net while Lunitari was on the other side of the world.

  “Just the thing,” the gnome said, eyeing the stone with admiration, “to power my rotating blade combination pickle slicer and beard trimmer.” The gnome was about to put the stone into the invention when Reorx appeared, in the guise of a fellow gnome, and demanded it for himself.

  The two quarreled and, during the argument, the Graygem slipped out of its net and escaped.

  This was the first indication that there was more to the Graygem than Reorx or Lunitari or the gnome or anyone else had imagined.

  Reorx watched in astonishment as the gem sailed away through the air. He chased after it (so did the gnome and a host of his relations), but none was able to capture it. The Graygem rampaged around Krynn, leaving havoc in its wake. It altered animals and plants, affected the spell-casting of wizards, and made a considerable nuisance of itself.

  All the gods were now aware of the Graygem. Paladine and Takhisis were both furious with Reorx for having forged it without consulting them first. Chislev shamefacedly admitted her part in the scheme, implicating Hiddukel, who shrugged and laughed uproariously.

  His plot had worked. Instead of ensuring the balance, the Graygem had further upset it. The elves were planning to go to war with the humans, the humans were preparing to go to war against the elves, and the ogres were eager to fight all comers.

  To draw this story swiftly to a close, a human named Gargath managed to capture the Graygem. He impriso
ned it inside his castle with various magical devices. (Or so he thought. I am of the opinion that the Graygem permitted itself to be captured, for no human magic that I have encountered would have held it for long.)

  The gnomes, who had been chasing after the Graygem for decades, laid siege to Gargath’s castle. They succeeded (accidentally) in breaking through the walls. The gnomes rushed into the courtyard and laid eager hands on the Graygem. One party of gnomes demanded that the stone be cut open on the spot, for they were intensely curious to know what was inside. The other party of gnomes wanted to take the gem back to their dwelling place and hoard it for its value.

  A brilliant gray light illuminated the courtyard, blinding everyone. When people could see once again, they found the two groups of gnomes fighting each other. But what was most astonishing, the gnomes were gnomes no longer. The power of the Graygem had altered them, changing those who lusted after the stone for wealth into dwarves and those who wanted the stone out of curiosity into kender.

  Those gnomes who had remained outside the walls of the castle, working on their latest invention—the revolving, mass-firing crossbow, known as the Gatling Crossbow, for its inventor, Loosenut Gatling—proved immune to the effects of the Graygem’s magical light. They assumed it came from the oil-burning candelabra, which was intended to illuminate the battlefield at night and had been sent up in a gas-filled balloon for that purpose—the gas being produced by a new technique too complex to be described here, but which required lemon juice, metal prongs, and water. Those who survived the subsequent explosion remained gnomes.

  The Graygem vanished over the horizon. Reorx and others have made various attempts to capture it. The Graygem permits people to catch it. The gem uses them for its own purposes—or perhaps amusement—then, when it tires of the sport, it releases them. The Graygem “escapes.”

  But now we Irda have the Graygem in our possession. We are the first to subdue it to our will—or so the Decider claims. This night, he will break open the gem and command the magic within to protect us and our homeland from the incursion of humankind forevermore.

  That ended the letter to Dalamar, which was penned in Prot’s neat, exact handwriting. A note at the bottom, written in the same hand, but less neat, as if the hand had been trembling, was for Usha herself.

  My love and prayers go with you, child of my heart, if not of my body.

  Pray for us.

  Usha thought long on the postscript. She had laughed over parts of the history. The Protector had often entertained her with “gnome stories,” as he called them. Some of the few times she’d seen him smile were when he was describing the gnomes’ fantastical machinery. She smiled now, remembering it, but her smile slid slowly away.

  Could only her human mind see the danger?

  No, she realized, Prot saw it, he knew it. That was why he had given her the scroll. The Irda were desperate. The intrusion of the strangers—uncouth, barbaric, smelling of blood and steel—had frightened them badly. They were acting in defense of a way of life they had known for countless generations.

  Usha dropped the letter into her lap. Her eyes filled with tears, but now they were no longer tears of self-pity. They were tears of longing and love for the man who had raised her. Such tears spring from a different source—or so the elves believe. Such tears come from the heart, and, though caused by pain, they have the strange effect of soothing pain.

  Exhausted, lulled by the rocking motion of the boat and the humming of the wind among the ropes, Usha cried herself to sleep.

  *It will be noted by Krynnish scholars that the legend of creation related by the Protector differs in some respects from the legends of creation related by other races. This is natural, considering that each race considers itself central in the universe. The dwarves, for example, refuse to admit that they were created by the confusion caused by Graygem. They maintain that they are Reorx’s creation. Many elves believe that they are the one true race and that other races are mere ink blots on Gilean’s Great Book. The Irda are, however, the race in possession of the longest unbroken history of Krynn and therefore we consider that their account probably comes closest to the actual events.

  5

  The altar and the graygem.

  The dwarf arrives late.

  Cracking open the stone.

  he Irda did not come together again. When the time came for the breaking of the Graygem—a time when none of the moons was visible in the sky, particularly not Lunitari, who, so legend had it, still coveted the gem—the Decider alone walked to the altar on which the stone rested.

  The other Irda remained in their separate dwellings, each working his or her own magic, each lending aid to the Decider. There was strength in aloneness, or so the Irda believed. Concentration became muddled, energies fragmented, when the one became many.

  The altar on which the Irda had placed the stone was located in the geographic center of the isle. The altar was some distance from what the Irda termed a village, though to any other race it would have been nothing but a scattered collection of dwellings. The Irda did not pave streets, they did not open markets, they attended no guild meetings. They did not construct temples or palaces, inns or taverns, nothing but houses, flung around the isle at random, each built where its owner felt most comfortable.

  The altar was fashioned of polished wood carved with intricate, arcane symbols. It stood in a glade surrounded by seven gigantic pine trees, which had been magically transported from a secret location on Ansalon to this isle.

  So old were these trees that they had likely seen the Graygem pass by the first time it escaped Reorx’s control. The pines appeared to be intent on not letting the Graygem escape again. The pines’ boughs were intertwined, linked together, presenting a solid front of bark and needle and limb and branch through which even a god might have difficulty in passing.

  The Decider stopped in front of the grove of seven pine trees, asked a blessing of the seven spirits who dwelt in the trees.

  The pines permitted the Decider to enter the glade, closed up their ranks the moment he was inside. Their massive boughs extended over his head. Looking up, he could not see a single star, much less a constellation. He could not see Takhisis or Paladine. And if he could not see them, he was hopeful they could not see him. The needle canopy of the sacred pines would hide the Decider and the Graygem from any who might try to interfere.

  The grove would have been impenetrably dark but for the light cast by the Graygem itself, though the light was feeble, sullen, barely a glimmer.

  Almost as if it were sulking, thought the Decider.

  But the stone gave light enough to see by. The Decider really didn’t need such light. He could have called upon his magic to illuminate the grove as bright as day, had he wanted to, but he preferred not to call attention to what he was doing. Some immortal eye might see that magical glow and wonder what was going on. He was thankful, therefore, for the Graygem’s assistance.

  Centered, calm, the Decider moved to stand beside the altar. He reveled in being alone, in the solitude the Irda so highly prized. Yet he felt within him the minds and spirits of his people. He bowed his head and drew on that energy. Then, reaching out, he picked up the Graygem in both hands and studied it intently.

  The stone was not pleasant to hold. It was sharp and smooth, warm and cold, and it seemed to writhe in his grasp. As he held it, the gray light began to pulse stronger and stronger, until it started to hurt his eyes. He increased his mental control over the Graygem, and the light lessened, became subdued. The Decider ran his fingers over the gem, gliding over the smooth facets, tracing along each sharp edge, searching, probing. At last, he found what he sought, what he’d discovered the first time he’d handled the gem, what had given him the idea.

  A flaw. More precisely, an occlusion. He had felt it first, before he’d seen it. Just as insects can be found in amber, some type of foreign matter had apparently been trapped within the Graygem during its formation. Most likely this had occurred as t
he gem cooled, minerals precipitated, were caught in the complex crystallization. At least, that is what the Decider theorized. The foreign substance itself was not important. What was important was that here was an area of weakness. Here, at this point, cracks would form.

  The Decider replaced the gem upon the altar. The arcane symbols that had been carved into the wood wove a spell, held the Graygem enthralled.

  The Decider, assisting the spell, had the odd impression that the magic was not necessary, that the Graygem was resting on the altar because it wanted to rest there, not because it was being held there.

  This impression was not particularly reassuring. The Decider needed to be in control of the gem, not the other way around. He strengthened the magic.

  The gem was now surrounded by a sparkling net of Irda synergy. The Decider picked up two tools—a hammer and a spike. Both were made of silver, crafted in the light of the silver moon, Solinari. Magical incantations had been laid over the tools and on them. The Decider placed the spike’s tip at the place of the gem’s flaw. He positioned the spike carefully, grasped it firmly, raised the small hammer above it.

  The thoughts of all the Irda came together, flowed into the Decider, gave him strength and power.

  He hit the spike a sharp blow with the hammer.

  On the beach, several leagues from the Irda village and the altar, a boat had landed. This boat had not sailed across the seas in the usual manner of boats. It had sailed down from the heavens, its originating point a red star—the only red star in the skies. A dwarf, with a full, curly black beard and hair, sat in the boat—an astonishing sight, if anyone had been watching, for no dwarf living on Ansalon or anywhere else in Krynn had ever sailed a boat out of the stars. The Irda were not watching, however. Their eyes were closed, their thoughts centered on the Graygem.

  The dwarf, grumbling and talking to himself, climbed out of the boat and promptly sank almost ankle-deep in the shifting sands. Cursing, the dwarf slogged on, heading for the woods.