The Black wing

Part Two Chapter 10

Khisanth's neck muscles tensed into thick black cords. Her scales rose like hackles. There it was again, that malevolent, watchful presence. Someone was definitely following her. Or some shy;thing. The dragon squinted skyward from the trail she'd beaten through the tamarack to her lair. Turning a full circle, Khisanth scanned the horizon. As before, she saw nothing to confirm her suspicion.

Ever since she'd started across the Miremier to the Great Moors in search of a lair, the dragon had not been able to shake the feeling that someone was watching her. That was many lunar cycles ago, when snow had still blanketed the tamarack and ice had covered the ponds-not long after she'd eaten her human lover. Led's death was a delicious memory for Khisanth, and she used it to reckon time-one season after the devouring of Led, four lunar cycles since, and so on.

She'd discovered the huge fen she now called home on a practice flight with Kadagan past the sandy desert on the western edge of the Endscape peninsula. Strong westerly winds had made flight difficult that day and pushed the heavy, pungent scent of stagnant water and rotting humus within reach of her sensitive nostrils. Kadagan had told her that the Great Moors were so vast that it took an entire day for the winds to push the clouds from west to east above them. Some instinct had told Khisanth that she belonged in such a bleak place, that a lair in the swamp would soothe her soul the way a cold meal sated her stomach.

After the events at Needle Pass, Khisanth couldn't bear the thought of living near there. She felt no kinship with moun shy;tains. Neither was she interested in returning to the tiny, unremarkable lair the nyphids had found for her in the grass shy;lands of Endscape. The dragon had never liked it anyway.

Khisanth's soul had stirred with the memory of the moor. Taking whatever treasure she fancied from Led and the dead ogres, Khisanth had gathered up her maynus choker and headed straightaway for the swamp. She had not looked back.

Khisanth usually explored her pond, her territory, by foot as a dragon. To practice her qhen techniques she would occa shy;sionally take on the forms of smaller creatures indigenous to the area-such as field mice or mundane serpents-to view the swamp as they would. The dragon had been curious to see how her lair looked from a muskrat's reed-and-mud dam in the center of her pond. The furry, beaverlike creature had been delicious.

Now, as she approached the hollow tree lair she'd taken for her own, Khisanth's gaze fell happily on the area sur shy;rounding it. Large, looming willows and other water-loving trees fanned out to where the earth met the dark purple sky. Low-growing shrubs covered everything else, hiding slip shy;pery bogs. At odd intervals the dead gray stumps of stripped pine trees poked skyward through the greenery, giving the tamarack an invitingly bleak appearance.

Khisanth walked the perimeter of her small pond. The southern edge was flanked by graceful willows whose drap shy;ing branches fanned the filmy surface of the pond. Their size attested to their ancient origins; most of them towered more than three times Khisanth's height. Best of all, their trunks were thick with knotted roots that formed tall, vaulted arch shy;ways where the water lapped against them.

Khisanth stepped into the chill, murky pond and waded toward an enormous tree whose roots arched majestically some eight feet above the pool's green surface. She bent her head to the water and half ducked, half swam, through the archway into the tree.

Nature had hollowed the place as if it were intended as a dragon's lair. Bright, glowing lichen that looked almost mag shy;ical clung to the moist, corklike walls. Pond water reached halfway through the chamber. Toward the back of the lair, the tree climbed onto the bank and provided solid ground for abed.

Living so close to water, Khisanth had learned to glory in swimming, to revel in the feel of tepid water gliding over her scales and filling her nostrils. The feeling would never replace that of flying, but it was a close second.

She discovered a whole new world underwater, where fish and other aquatic creatures provided tasty tidbits so flavorful they surpassed even the most tender moose. Though she was the largest creature to swim in these waters, Khisanth had learned to glide beneath the surface so quietly that she could surprise beavers on their dams and gobble them whole, before panic could spoil the flavor of their meat.

Territorial skirmishes had given Khisanth the chance to taste creatures whose flavors, no matter how rewarding the kills, were unappealing. The lizard-bird cockatrice's ability to turn her to stone with its touch caused her to forego her favorite trick of biting off its head. Instead, she'd leveled it with her acid, leaving little to taste. Then there'd been that giant poisonous toad. Khisanth still shivered at the taste of its slimy, scaleless body filled with bitter-if not deadly- poison.

Still troubled by the thought of being followed, Khisanth curled up on the floor of her lair and fell into her favorite pas shy;time: counting and sorting the treasures hung on her choker. Though the necklace had been conceived to transport her cache and leave her claws free, its constant presence around her neck had become a comfort, a talisman. She'd taken to stringing the skulls of her enemies between the shiny weapons as spacers, to keep the trinkets fanned out around her entire neck instead of sliding down to hang in a clump from her throat like a lead weight. She removed the choker only to add new valuables, or to count and stroke her baubles, or to stare into the most valuable of all her prizes, the maynus globe.

Khisanth's thoughts frequently turned to those who had given her the maynus and what they had taught her. The memories began warmly enough, of Kadagan's patient train shy;ing and Joad's healing hands. But the remembrances always turned prickly when she would recall the younger nyphid's last words to her. They had planted seeds of doubt that easily germinated in the fertile, damp silence of the moors.

Khisanth knew now that she had not done everything she could to save Dela. If she'd not gotten so distracted by her human form, she would have killed the entire party the sec shy;ond she was certain Dela was in the wagon. Even before.

The dragon suffered no guilt at this failure, but she did feel regret. She deeply rued that she'd been so horribly wrong about Led. Yet, she was convinced that she wasn't responsi shy;ble for that, either. She blamed her faulty thinking entirely on her human form.

As the dragon began to muse about the nyphids and the limitations of humankind, a familiar, unpleasant sensation dragged her attention back to her lair. Khisanth fell as still as stone, her musings banished. There it was again, that feeling…. Whoever it was had come close to her home this time-too close for Khisanth's peace of mind.

She was rising to her feet when a piercing series of shrieks rang out above her willow tree. Khisanth clapped her claws to her ear holes. Her head felt as if it would be split in two by the hideous noise, which seemed to come from the Abyss itself.

Khisanth knew of only one creature that made that sort of noise-a dragon. The spine-tingling, high-pitched screeches might have come from her own mouth. Khisanth dived through the archway to the pond and looked up just in time to confirm her suspicions. The body of an enormous black dragon, wings fully extended, sped away through the dusky sky. Its underbelly was well scarred.

Khisanth looked upon the first fellow dragon she'd seen since before the Sleep. The strange wyrm tucked its wings, turned sharply, and dived right for her lair. When it seemed the dragon would plunge straight into the tree, a slight twist of its wings sent it into a sharp bank. The wyrm-Khisanth could see he was a male now-leveled off just yards above the delicate willow branches, blasting leaves from their limbs. Still moving impossibly fast, the dragon curled his lips back from the yellowed knives of his teeth. The night ex shy;ploded in a crackling billow of stinking green acid.

Bile engulfed the graceful, arching branches of Khisanth's beloved willow. The ancient tree split and splintered. Great holes opened as branches exploded and spun into the air. Raising a claw, the attacking dragon boldly swooped to within a tail's length of his astonished target. Retracting one talon, he raked two deep scratches into the living wood above Khisanth's head. Then, with a mighty pump of his wings and a last threatening screech, he rose above the siz shy;zling willow and into the dark sky.

The shriek of challenge finally shook Khisanth from her daze. She gave a mighty slap of her tail that sent a wave of water crashing over the still-smoking husk of her willow tree, washing away whatever was left of the other dragon's acid. The corrosive bile sputtered wherever it touched the water. Khisanth's lair at the base of the tree was still largely intact, though hideously scarred.

Think twice, act once, Kadagan had always said. Khisanth called on her qhen training to still the fury and the urge to chase after the wyrm. She had learned the price of such foolishness the hard way-lost information from her first battle with ogres, pain and humiliation from the disastrous skir shy;mish with the young Solamnic Knight at Needle Pass.

At least this unprovoked attack had solved one mystery. "He's obviously the one who's been watching me," Khisanth muttered aloud. But the intent of the assault still puzzled her. The dragon's acid could easily have destroyed her lair, if that was his goal. He was either a bungler or a rival for the same territory.

Her fury turned to puzzlement, then curiosity. Another dragon … It would be interesting to talk to another of her kind. Looking at her still-smoldering lair, she thought it unlikely he had conversation on his mind.

Khisanth sprang from the ground and into the air. She headed west, in the direction the other dragon had taken. From her one flight over the rest of the moors, when she had scouted for her lair, she knew the place was enormous. Even a simple flight from east to west would take many days, and the moor was twice as long from north to south as it was from east to west. A shrub-by-shrub examination could take a lifetime. Pushing herself hard, she hoped she would gain enough ground to catch sight of the dragon again, but she couldn't be sure of his flight trail.

After some time, when her wings began to ache and she had seen only Lunitari in the dark night sky, she landed. The dragon adopted the shape of the first creature she saw. Upon questioning, the blue-necked mallard admitted seeing another flying creature, much larger than itself. But it had never encountered the winged creature on the ground.

Khisanth traveled westward on foot in a variety of guises, from snout-nosed aardvark to zebra, questioning everything she met for some sign pointing to the other dragon's lair.

Her first useful clue came when, as a curly-tusked warthog, she learned of a place over which an enormous winged crea shy;ture flew regularly. The other warthog had also heard loud rumblings just beyond a ridge of rocks to the north and west. Changing yet again into the sleek, weasel-like body of a meerkat, hoping to be overlooked as a rodent by a wary

dragon in his lair, Khisanth scampered over a low ridge.

From the rise Khisanth surveyed the stretch of marsh ahead. With her magic, she detected dark emotions in the vicinity, too far away to read but too strong to come from even the largest bear, or even the deadly, many-headed hydra.

Khisanth knew better than to approach the other dragon's lair too closely, knowing from her own experience that his senses would warn him of intruders if they were too bold. Instead, she took to the sky as a dragon to scout at a distance.

A dragon's imprint on the area was unmistakable to another dragon's eye. The largest trees were withered and blackened, but left standing as signs of ownership. Where boulders jutted above the water or marshy ground, they were cut deeply with parallel claw marks.

At the center of this area was a knob of ground covered in reeds and rocks. The stones looked unnatural, as if deliberately placed there ages before. The pattern suggested a series of con shy;centric rings, but most of the rocks were now tumbled and overgrown with rushes and swamp grass. Near the center of this knoll there was a blackness, clear indication of a lair.

Khisanth intended to leave a message not unlike his-the destruction of her tree. Blood once again pulsed pleasantly behind her eyes. Using the maynus, she banished the dark shy;ness from the night sky. A blinding beam of light shot for shy;ward from her claws to the entrance of the wyrm's lair, enveloping it in absolute brilliance.

As Khisanth had hoped, the other dragon crawled from the mouth of its lair and into the painfully bright light. Blink shy;ing against the light, the other dragon held up a claw arm to block it out. It kept the light from cutting at his eyes, but still he could see nothing but blinding whiteness around him.

Khisanth now had perfect opportunity to study her fellow black dragon, illuminated as he was. He had deep age lines around his eyes. His graying, spotted lips sagged on the sides like an old man's jowls, revealing more teeth missing than not. He was decked out in a necklace of sky-blue sapphires and forest-green emeralds with a matching anklet. Circling

his massive head was a pearl diadem, a large pear-shaped ruby at its center.

Khisanth allowed herself a brief, smug smile at his pain and confusion. She chose her first words carefully. "Now, dragon, we meet on equal footing." She hadn't heard her voice in so long that its deep, even timbre pleased her.

The other dragon held as still as stone for a moment. His eyes, one orange, the other blue, shifted from side to side. "Is that you, Talon?" his old voice rumbled, curious and con shy;cerned. "Put out that light so that I can see you."

"No, I'm not Talon. And as for the light, answer my ques shy;tions first, and I will consider dimming it." Khisanth watched for the other dragon to ready his breath weapon. His chest rose slowly, evenly. Still, her eyes never left him. "First, so that we may converse like civilized dragons, tell me your name."

"You say you're a dragon, but you don't sound like one. If you were a true wyrm, you'd know that dragons are not civi shy;lized. However, if you allow the absurdity of the term, 'civi shy;lized' dragons don't toy with each other this way. Either kill me," the older dragon challenged, "or douse the light so that I may see."

Khisanth's fury rose. "Civilized dragons don't attack each other without provocation," she countered.

"Of course they do. That's all they do. You really don't know a thing about dragons, do you?"

"So you admit you destroyed my lair!" Khisanth accused.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm far too old for that sort of young-bull-marking-his-territory foolishness-haven't done any shy;thing but hunt small mammals and find new lairs in years."

The old dragon's confusion seemed too real to be dis shy;missed. Besides, now that she could study him more closely, this old wyrm didn't look like the dragon she'd seen silhou shy;etted against the sky above her lair. "Who are you, then?"

"The light, please."

"Oh, yes." Khisanth touched the maynus and silently bade it to go dark. The area sank abruptly into soothing dusk, and Khisanth landed before the cave.

"Much better," said the dragon. He blinked hard several times, opened his eyes and sighed. "Are you still there? It'll take some time for the spots to go away." He squinted into the darkness at Khisanth. "Ah, there you are. A young one- that explains a lot. Among humans I was known as Pitch, but dragons call me Pteros." He drew back suddenly. "You haven't come to slay me and take my treasure, have you?"

"No. I came to learn why you attacked my lair. But if it wasn't you, who was it-another dragon that lives nearby?"

Pteros looked thoughtful. "This dragon … was its belly covered with scars? Did it leave its mark on a tree-two straight talon tracks, with squiggles for tails?

"Yes and yes! How did you know?"

"That's Talon. I know because I've seen his marks outside lairs for nearly a decade, which is how long he's chased me around the moor."

"What does he want?"

"Treasure."

"Why hasn't he just slain you and been done with it? And why did he flee before fighting me?"

"You give me little credit," Pteros grumbled, then shrugged. "Talon hasn't managed it because I keep one step ahead of him, moving before he can corner me." His wrinkled lids squinted. "Frankly, I'm none too happy that you were able to find me."

"It wasn't too difficult," snorted Khisanth. "You left tell shy;tale claw marks on the boulders. "Why don't you go kill this Talon instead of running?"

"I told you, I'm too old for that fighting-over-territory sort of thing."

"Sounds like you're doing just that, whether you mean to or not," observed Khisanth. "If you don't wish to fight, why don't you just move from the moors?"

"Where would I move to? There isn't another swamp as lush and wide as this in all of Ansalon. Besides," Pteros con shy;tinued without guile, "now that he's got you to focus on, he'll forget all about me. Nice knowing you." With that, the bejeweled old wyrm stretched his arthritic wings and swung his heavy tail around to reenter his lair.

"Wait a minute!" cried Khisanth, annoyed that he had so blithely dismissed her. "Why shouldn't I kill you and take your treasure?"

Pteros stopped, turned his orange eye on Khisanth, and tapped a sagging jowl, his expression thoughtful. "The last time a dragon asked me that was at a battle with Huma dur shy;ing the Third Dragon War." The dragon chuckled in fond memory. "Now there was a battle. Not this petty squabbling over swampland."

Khisanth's eyes grew wide. "You fought against Huma? The Huma? Huma Dragonbane?"

"Was there more than one?"

"Just how old are you?" she asked, studying his toothless jaw and wrinkled skin with new appreciation.

"What season is it? Summer?"

Khisanth nodded.

"Then that would make me one thousand three hundred seventy-eight human years, near as I can reckon." At Khi shy;santh's gasp of awe, Pteros shrugged again, looking unim shy;pressed. "I got a bit of extra time from the Sleep." He rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started on that subject."

Khisanth wanted to get him talking about everything that had to do with the dragons of old. Her mind reeled from the possibilities. She could learn from such a venerable dragon. A wyrm from the old days, when their kind had ruled by fear. One who had fought for their queen, Takhisis.

"I won't kill you if you agree to an arrangement."

Pteros used a sharp claw to scratch at a long, white scar on his belly. "And what arrangement would that be?"

"Take me on as an apprentice. Teach me everything you know. Tell me about the old days, when dragons were the rulers of all they saw."

"You've got that a little-"

"You look as if you've seen your share of battles," Khi shy;santh cut in. With an admiring look she surveyed the other dragon's scars, though the flabby muscles beneath them gave her pause. "In exchange, I'll get you back in shape so that you

can fight back against Talon."

"But I don't want to fight. I just want to be left alone in my old age to enjoy my hoard."

"Your old age will end prematurely if your luck runs out. You can't duck and run forever. Why should a dragon who fought Huma run at all?"

Pteros was strangely silent. "You're awfully sure of your shy;self for one so young. What help could you give me against Talon? You know nothing of dragon ways."

"I think you've seen an adequate display of my abilities. I managed to hold you at bay with a beam of light. Besides," she shot back with a smirk, "if you're any sort of teacher, I'll learn the ways of dragons so quickly I'll be the one concerned about your deficiencies when the time comes to face Talon."

Pteros answered her jibe with a toothless smirk. "There's one thing you must first do to persuade me you aren't simply after my treasure." The old dragon extended a talon and scratched his other, withered claw arm. Drawing blood, Pteros held the limb toward Khisanth. "We must blood-min shy;gle in the tradition of those who came before."

Khisanth did not hesitate, thrilled to be participating in a ritual of her race. She tore open a scale viciously in her eager shy;ness. Blood welled up; Khisanth's bright red droplets ran with Pteros's and mingled between their pressed arms. For long seconds, both creatures could see into the other's heart and mind. Recognizing purity of purpose in each other, they drew back from the ritual almost reluctantly.

"The arrangement is sealed," Pteros said with sudden sternness. "Never trust a dragon with whom you have not blood-mingled."

As steam rose from their blood on the chill night, the ancient dragon's words sounded almost prophetic.