Dragons of a New Age

29 In the Desert

Midway through the next morning, they stopped walking. They were sore, tired, and thirsty. Their stomachs growled incessantly Feril volunteered to hunt, but Dhamon argued that rest was more important right now. He’d found a small hill with a slight outcropping—enough to provide a little shade from the sun that was high overhead and beating down on them.

Shaon plopped to the sand and dropped the net bag at her feet. Fury stretched out beside her and stared at the tiny creature who peered back at him through gaps in the dark green net.

The sea barbarian winced as she reached out to pet Fury.

Her arm was branded, burned from the bolt of lightning she’d been the target of last night. It would likely leave a lengthy, ugly scar. “Why did I come along?” she whispered to the wolf. “Did I really think I could speed them up? Help them? Or did I just want Rig to miss me for a while?”

Again she thought about the big mariner, wondered what he was doing and wondered if he was thinking about her. She closed her eyes, leaned back, and imagined she was on the deck of the Anvil. She was going to have to change that name as soon as she got back, even if Jasper protested. The dwarf would be gone soon enough anyway.

Dhamon sat next to the Kagonesti. Feril tried to fuss over the claw marks on his back, but he brushed away the attention. There was no water to clean the wound, and if they made any more bandages out of their clothes, they wouldn’t have anything left to wear. The kender, perhaps because she was small—or lucky—had the least damage. She had managed to only get her topknot singed.

“Dhamon, how long do you think it will take to reach the Lonely Refuge?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Several days, maybe—if we’re lucky. The map was in the pack on my horse, and the horse is probably miles and miles from here. Sorry you came along?”

Feril grinned and shook her head. “We’ll find the Refuge. And I’ll find us something to eat in a little while. I’m a good hunter. Maybe I’ll take Fury with me. I wonder if he can hunt? Or has living with people made him soft?”

“I just wonder where we are,” Blister interposed distractedly.

Feril glanced at the kender. Blister had been mumbling and pacing, periodically stopping to kick at the sand, trace circles in it with the heel of her boot. Her bottom lip protruded in concentration, and her arms swung at her sides. She wore gray canvas gloves today. There were some sort of odd attachments on them—a button and hook contraption on each thumb and larger buttons on the palms.

“I know all about draconians,” the kender was babbling to herself. “I read about them somewhere. They’re copper, bronze, brass, silver, and gold. They don’t come in blue. At least they didn’t before. These have got to be new. Hey! Dhamon, look! There’s a building!”

Dhamon leapt to his feet, his mouth gaping. The kender was right! There was a tower, tall and distinct, sitting about a half-mile away. Had it been there a moment ago? He wasn’t sure. He’d been looking off in that direction.

“Is it a mirage?” Blister wondered aloud. “I’ve heard about the heat on the sand playing tricks on your mind.”

“No,” Dhamon said. He extended a hand toward the Kagonesti, offering to help her up. She leapt to her feet without any help, and started toward the structure.

“It’s not hot enough yet for mirages,” Feril said. “At least, I don’t think it is. And it’s casting a shadow. Mirages don’t do that. I’m betting it’s magic.” She cast a curious look at Dhamon. “And some of us have faith in magic.”

Shaon, roused from her daydreams about a carrack named after herself, roughly snatched up the spawn’s bag, nudged the wolf, and followed. “Come on, Blister, Fury,” she urged. “If it’s not a mirage, I’m going to be inside it in a few minutes—and filling my stomach with whatever food I can find.”

The tower was made of smooth stone, a simple, gray granite. It was massive, shedding a long shadow across their path.

Dhamon guessed there were eight or nine levels to it. Perhaps more extended below the sand. Had it been here all along and something only now allowed them to see it? A few yards from the door, he stiffened and held up a hand to stop the others. Maybe this was where the blue draconians, the spawn, came from. There were no tracks around the structure. The spawn flew and didn’t have to leave any.

Then the door soundlessly opened, and a figure draped in silver and black appeared in the entranceway. A voluminous hood obscured the face in its shadowy recesses, and the sleeves dangled just below where the tips of fingers would be. The figure could be a man—or a ghost, even a spawn.

It beckoned them forward. But Dhamon made them hold their place.

“You must be Goldmoon’s champions,” the figure said. His voice was soft and scratchy. “I am the Master. Palin is inside. He has been waiting for you.”

“Is this the Lonely Refuge?” Blister asked excitedly. The kender had run to catch up with her long-limbed companions. She took a step closer.

Dhamon looked intently—skeptically—at the silvery-robed man.

“Please, come in. There’s no need to stand out in the heat. I’ll tell Palin you’re here.”

“I don’t know,” Blister babbled. “Maybe he killed Palin. Maybe he’s only pretending Palin’s inside. Maybe he wants to kill us, and he just wants to do it in there—where it’s probably cooler. Maybe he’s the you-know-what—The Storm Over Krynn.”

Fury padded up to the door, sniffed at the man. Then with a wag of his red-haired tail, the wolf disappeared inside.

“I think it’s all right,” Feril whispered.

Dhamon nodded, but his hand drifted to the pommel of his sword. He strode into the tower, Feril and Shaon on his heels. The door started to close as Blister took a last nervous look at the sandy waste, then also rushed inside.

The large, open room they stood in was cool and pleasant. A thick rug stretched across the center of it, which soothed the kender’s aching feet and made her feel a little better.

The walls were covered with tapestries and exquisite paintings that depicted beautiful countrysides, faces of distinguished people, ships, unicorns, and windswept coastlines. A polished stone staircase wound up the side of the room, and more paintings led upward, each one seemingly more striking and expertly rendered than its predecessor.

A man came down the steps. He was tall, dressed in dark green leggings with a lighter green tunic. A white sash was wrapped around his waist, and designs embroidered in red and black crowded it. His graying auburn hair was long, his eyes intense but tired-looking, and he had the start of a beard shadowing his lean face.

The kender guessed him to be roughly her age, perhaps older but in remarkably good health if so. He walked straight, his head held high and his shoulders squared. She judged him handsome and intriguing for a human. She decided immediately that she liked him.

“Goldmoon’s champions,” the Master of the Tower announced, as he extended a sweeping arm toward Dhamon and his companions. “This is Palin Majere,” he softly added. “Our host.”

Silence filled the room. Dhamon wasn’t sure how to begin, and Feril was too busy ogling the surroundings to say anything. Blister edged forward and nodded a greeting, knowing better than to extend her hand for fear he might actually shake it and hurt her.

“Pleased to meet you, sir. Jasper Fireforge told me all about you. Well, some about you anyway. But Jasper’s not here. He’s on the ship—in Palanthas. I think he was afraid it might sail away if he left. Of course, it wouldn’t, even if he did. It’s waiting for us. I’m Blister.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Blister. Goldmoon said you would be coming. Follow me, we have much to discuss.”

“Take a look at this,” Shaon said, suddenly rushing forward. She held the jiggling net bag toward Palin. “It calls itself a spawn. We were attacked by three of these things last night. Only they were a lot larger and meaner at the time.” Palin took the bag from her and peered through the net. The spawn stopped wriggling and stared back through a small hole in the weave.

From his lair beneath the desert, many miles to the north, Khellendros gazed through the eyes of his spawn.

So this is Palin Majere, the Blue thought. Not so old or feeble as I had anticipated, and his allies are powerful. I shall study this Palin Majere, Kitiara’s nephew, as he studies my spawn. And I shall learn what happened to his parents. Perhaps they still live, and I can use him to get to them. Such a fine sacrifice all of them would make.

“Goldmoon said she sensed a growing evil near Palanthas. And I think these are definitely evil,” Dhamon began. “They’re like draconians, though a little different.”

“They explode into balls of lightning when they die,” Blister cut in. “Of course, they can shoot lightning bolts at you when they’re alive. And they can fly. This one said its master is a big storm.”

The sorcerer stroked his chin. “The Master of the Tower and I will study this spawn. Won’t you join us upstairs after you’ve had time to refresh yourselves? Please, take your time. This,” he said, indicating the net bag, “will take a considerable amount of study. We will be on the top floor.” The sorcerer turned and retraced his steps up the stairs.

They were given a chance to bathe and eat, to tend to their wounds and put on clean clothes that were provided for them. Their old garments were discarded into a fireplace. Fury contentedly curled up in front of the hearth. Despite the heat outside, the interior of the tower stayed pleasantly cool.

They sat at a round birch table, on birch chairs that were thickly padded and comfortable. They drank peach cider from tall crystal goblets and enjoyed the silence. The room was elegant, yet simply furnished, white wood everywhere. The china cabinet and the long, low buffet near it were respectively filled and covered with white dishes and vases. It was a welcome change of pace from the desert.

Blister upended her drink, licked her lips and slipped from her chair so she could better admire the dark orange tunic she was wearing. It was one of Linsha Majere’s discarded shirts that was gathered and belted, and it looked more like a long gown with the tip of its tail dragging on the floor. It had tiny seed pearls along the collar, and as the kender ran her white-gloved thumb across them she smiled.

Dhamon was roughly Palin’s size, and borrowed a pair of dark brown leggings and a white silk shirt that fit him almost perfectly. He was pleased at its relative plainness, and the soft material felt good against his body.

Shaon and Feril wore clothes kept on hand for needy travellers, which were far removed from what either woman was used to. Shaon’s dress was a pale lilac trimmed in ivory lace around a high neck. It was a little short and draped only to the tops of her ankles, as Shaon was quite tall. The sea barbarian nonetheless looked stunning, and to her surprise found herself staring in the mirror.

Feril’s was a forest-green flowing gown with roses embroidered in dark red thread along the bodice. The sleeves came to her elbows and fluttered like butterfly wings when she walked. Following Blister’s lead, she got up from the table. She whirled in front of Dhamon, laughing softly. “Do you approve?” Her hair was full again, like a lion’s mane.

Dhamon stared at her. “You’re beautiful,” Dhamon said in a hushed voice. She looked surprised. It was one of those rare times when she couldn’t think of anything to say.

Shaon cleared her throat loudly and walked toward the stairs. “I want to check on my creature,” she said.

“Your creature?” Blister grumbled. “It’s my magic bag. And Feril shrank the nasty thing.” The kender stuck her chin in the air. “It’s our creature.” But the sea barbarian was long gone, and the kender’s words were wasted.

Dhamon moved toward the stairs, but Feril’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Wait,” she began. “You were traveling to the Lonely Refuge for something.” She gestured to a polished walnut box nearly two feet long and half as wide that sat in the center of the table.

“Was that there before?” he asked. Dhamon stepped closer and ran his fingers across the lid, and carefully opened it. Inside was a piece of steel, dented in places, and festooned with bits of brass and gold.

It was a lance handle, old and ornate, with intricate whorls and designs along its surface. He pulled the handle out and inspected the hole for the lance. Dhamon held it with his right hand, the way someone wielding the completed weapon might. The thing felt impossibly light.

Dhamon turned it over and spotted twin hooks. He reached inside his pocket, where he’d slipped the silk banner after changing clothes, and fastened the flag in place. “Only one part is missing now,” he said. “And Palin will take us to it.” He looked to Feril, who was smiling at him proudly.

“One of the original dragonlances,” Dhamon said reverently. “I wondered if these things were simply legends.”

Feril laughed. “They were real all right—and I guess a couple of them are still around.”

Dhamon nodded and gently replaced the lance handle and banner in its box. “I don’t know if even a magical lance could kill something as big as the White you saw.”

“You have to have faith,” Feril countered. “Magic, if it’s powerful enough, could make the size of something irrelevant,” she said. “And speaking of magic, I think I’ll see what Palin is doing with the spawn.”

Feril, her butterfly sleeves billowing, seemed to float toward the stairs. As she started up, Blister, who had been so still and silent they had forgotten she was there, followed her. The kender glanced at the big steps, and scowled. “Everything’s built for humans,” Blister muttered. She knew Feril would get to the top long before her.

“Goldmoon’s champions are a rather ragtag lot,” the Master said. He sat at a long polished table, opposite Palin.

“I remember my father telling me stories about he and Uncle Raistlin, Tas, and everyone. I suppose you could have called them ragtag, too—especially after they’d been in a fight.”

The blue spawn stood in the center of the table inside a bell-shaped piece of glass with a thick cork stopper at the top. It intently regarded the two men. Then, ultimately bored, it paced back and forth, hissing and spitting lightning. The bolts bounced off the sides and ricocheted into a dazzling light show.

“And I suspect Goldmoon chose wisely,” Palin continued. “If they bested three of these things—these new draconians—they must be formidable.”

“Or lucky.” The Master edged his head closer to the jar and nudged the cowl back slightly, yet still his face was hidden. “Indeed, it looks like a draconian, but there are differences.”

Palin leaned closer and stared at the spawn. The room fell silent. Suddenly, he reached forward and gripped the bottle tightly. “It’s the eyes! Look at them!”

The Master gently pried Palin’s fingers from the jar and leaned in to study the spawn intently. “They are not entirely reptilian,” he said in agreement.

“I don’t just mean the large round pupils or the placement of the eyes closer to the front of the head instead of toward the sides, I mean what’s behind them. They have depth. They’re soft and sad, almost...”

“Human,” finished the Master. He regarded Palin’s sudden ashen pallor and waited silently for a few moments.

“What is going on?” Palin cried. “What is happening to us? What are we becoming”

“Not we,” said the Master. “We are going to figure this out.” He put his hand on Palm’s shoulder. “The spawn has a thinner tail than a draconian, and it is capable of flight. Only sivaks could fly before. Could this creature have come from the egg of a blue dragon?”

Palin nodded. “The lightning would be consistent with a blue dragon’s breath weapon, but Takhisis created the other draconians. With her gone, who created this?”

“Let’s find out.”

Palin stood and walked to a bank of cabinets that stretched the length of the room. Built into the wall, and made of the same wood as the table, it contained a few dozen different drawers of varying size with assorted nobs and handles. He opened a drawer and extracted a few sheets of parchment, a quill and a vial of ink. “I will record our observations,” he explained as he arranged the objects on the table.

The Master left the room for a moment, his dark robe silently trailing behind him. When he returned, he was carrying a copper basin filled to the rim with water. He placed it on the table and seated himself there. Placing his hands on either side of the basin, he leaned forward as if he meant to drink from it. Words tumbled from his lips. Soft and craggy, his voice sounded like a breeze rustling papers.

Palin watched the Master, realizing he was casting a spell of divination that would allow them to see the birth of the creature, the process that created it, and who was responsible. Without taking his eyes off the water’s surface, Palin reached for the quill and the first sheet of parchment.

The Master’s words became softer and softer, until Palin could barely hear them anymore. The water shimmered slightly, reminiscent of rays of sun hitting the smooth surface of a lake. An ethereal, rippled image of a haggard-looking youth with a tangled mane of black hair appeared. Broad shouldered, scantily dressed, and weathered from the sun, he was likely a barbarian.

“I’d say he was from the Northern Wastes,” the Master whispered. “Look at the markings on his belt.”

“Yes, and by their indications he wasn’t from too far to the north of here.”

“Where are you, man or spawn? Show us your surroundings, the place you were born,” the Master insisted.

The water rippled around the image of the man, its currents shifting and reforming into a frame that resembled stone.

“He’s in a cave,” Palin said. There were shadowing images against the cavern wall—people of various sizes and shapes, though the sorcerers could not make out enough of their features to guess their ages.

The image on the water’s surface shifted again, the man’s muscles receding, then expanding, becoming coppery and scaly. Wings sprouted from his back, revealing a kapak, a rather witless draconian that cringed and looked furtively about the false cave.

“This is interesting. Perhaps a kapak was merged with the man,” Palin speculated. “But how? And why would it turn blue?”

Again the image rippled and shifted form, the kapak-like image starting to grow, seeming to fill the entire cavern in which it had stood. The water turned completely blue and the two sorcerers leaned closer toward the basin.

“What happened?” asked Palin.

“Perhaps it is the sky,” answered the Master, leaning still closer to search for a small figure in flight or a cloud.

Suddenly the water parted in the center, revealing a huge glowing orb. A blue dragon had just opened his eye.

The two sorcerers quickly backed away from the basin and looked at each other. “Skie,” said Palin.

They watched together as the reptilian eye rotated around its bulbous socket, seeming to look around the room. Its baleful gaze fixed on them and the eye narrowed. The image began to ripple. The water grew turbulent, roiled and then boiled away. The copper basin was empty.

“What does all of that mean?”

The voice was Shaon’s. The sea barbarian stood in the doorway, glancing at the basin and then at the jar containing the trapped spawn. She shuffled into the room and leaned over the table, staring at the creature. It returned her gaze.

Palin scratched furiously on the parchment, wanting to record every observation before time passed and chased away even the merest recollection.

“It means that Goldmoon chose her champions wisely,” the Master said. His voice was softer than before, the ordeal of the spell wearing on him. He leaned back in his chair, exhaled slowly. “For all our magic and books and hours of study, you and your fellows were able to discover something about the dragons that Palin and I, and our associate who is elsewhere, could not. If the dragons—if even one of the dragons—found a way to create new draconians, spawn—then...” His voice trailed off.

“Then Krynn is in worse trouble than any of us feared,” Dhamon finished. He had stepped into the room behind Feril.

The Master agreed. “The dragons are enough of a menace on their own. And if we have to deal with the Blue’s spawn before we can defeat the dragons, I don’t know if we have a chance.”

“There is always a chance,” Palin said, laying down the quill. “I’m going with you back to Palanthas. We’ll pick up the final piece of the lance there.”

“The Dark Knights—the Blue’s agents—will be watching us,” Blister added. The kender had finally made it up the stairs and was panting from the exertion. She wondered how many trips the sorcerers made up and down the stairs each day. Maybe mages kept their important rooms at the top so they would force themselves to get exercise, she thought.

“Still, we must go to Palanthas. I believe we can find more answers there than we can by sitting here.” Palin thrust his hand into a deep pocket. He retrieved Blister’s net bag and handed it to the kender. “It’s not magic,” he told her. “Sorry. And it’s not especially strong. I suspect the spawn must have been injured in your battle with it, unable to summon the strength to break out. We’ll keep it in the jar to be safe.”

“Won’t it die in there, without air?” the kender wondered.

Palin shook his head. “The jar is magical. I don’t want this thing escaping.” He glanced at Feril. “When did you study mysticism with Goldmoon?”

“I didn’t,” she said, looking down.

Intrigued, Palin turned toward her. “And the shrinking of the spawn, your magic?”

“It’s just something I can do. I’ve been able to use magic all my life.”

“Inherent magic,” Palin said, smiling and turning to look at the Master. “When we have time,” he added, “I’d like to discuss your magic with you.”

She nodded. “I’d be honored.”

“Can we make a... side trip?” Feril asked. “There’s a young boy in a village. He’s all alone. The spawn took all the adults in his village.”

“How many adults?” The words erupted out of Palin’s mouth.

“A few dozen were taken, from what we understand,” she replied.

“The Blue could indeed be making an army of these things,” the Master said. “And an army is never without a purpose.”

“Well, the spawn are not unbeatable,” Palin returned, pointing at the trapped creature.

“Neither are we,” Blister said.

Khellendros purred. He looked out through the eyes of his blue spawn, studying Palin, the Master, and the others. “By taking my spawn with them, they are taking me.”

The Blue was pleased. He would know everywhere they went, whatever they were working on, and all they discovered—without leaving his comfortable lair. In the process, he’d learn all there was to know about their weaknesses and drives. And when the time was right, he vowed to strike against them.

“Perhaps I shall worry them first,” he hissed. “Threaten them, frighten them. Perhaps make a game of it.” His mouth curled upward in the approximation of a grin, and he crooked a claw in the air, beckoning the wyvern guards.

“Do what now?” the larger asked.

“Do something?” the other echoed.

“Yes,” Khellendros intoned. “My lieutenant, Gale, find him. His lair is to the north. Bring him here.”

“Do now? Sun out now.”

“Hot out now,” the larger complained.

Khellendros growled as the wyverns hurried out into the hateful desert afternoon.