The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 23 Loose Ends

The blue dragon banked over the northern Wastes. The moon was so large and bright and low against the white sand that it cast the dragon’s shadow ahead of him. The silhouette passed over the ruined Bastion of Darkness, glided over a decimated barbarian village and a small oasis. The dragon smelled the fresh, sweet water below and idly considered stopping to quench his considerable thirst and to feast on the camels and riders he could also smell sleeping beneath the palms. But he decided such a luxury would have to wait

The dragon continued on toward a rocky rise, where a massive cave was partially hidden by the ridge’s shadow. Tucking his wings in close to his scaly body, he disappeared inside the cave, leaving behind the comforting warmth and accepting the cooler confines of the underground lair.

“Khellendros,” the blue dragon began. He lowered his sapphire head, showing proper homage.

“Gale ” Khellendros replied. “What has delayed you?”

The younger blue dragon related the tale of his battle with Dhamon Grimwulf, and how the human—his former partner—had wounded him seriously, blinded him. He had to rely on his other senses now, and on his rage, which was unstoppable. The dragon knew Dhamon Grimwulf lived, and he swore the man would die for leaving him in a world of darkness.

Behind Khellendros, a talon of Knights of Takhisis rested. They had managed to retrieve a set of crystalline keys, magic from the Age of Dreams. They listened intently as the younger dragon retold the story of plunging into the cold lake, sinking to its bottom and laying still for so long. He had expected to die, felt his blood and energy leave him, felt sadness and anger that his once-partner, whom he had considered a brother, delivered the killing blow. The dragon wanted to die in a glorious battle. He had been on duty in Northern Ergoth during the fighting in the Abyss, and had lived through the Chaos War. This death seemed such a waste.

It was perhaps those thoughts, he told Khellendros, that kept him alive. Gale stayed at the bottom of the lake for hours, the air stored in his great lungs keeping hint from drowning. He had sensed two humans and an elf standing on the shore of the lake, and he hadn’t wanted to crawl out while they were there and he was weak and at their mercy. So he waited until he was sure they were gone, then slowly made his way into the hills around Palanthas.

Gale spent months there, nursing his wounds and recovering his strength, sleeping for several weeks at a time and learning how to exist by his heightened senses of hearing and smell. Even now traces of the battle lingered. His eyes were fixed and pale. A scar stretched nearly two feet along the side of his neck. The cut had been deep, and the wound festered. No scales grew along the wound, and never would again. There were other scars, one near the base of his neck, another on his side where Dhamon had buried his sword up to its hilt and used it as a mountain climber would, lodging a piton in rock to haul himself up the creature’s back.

Khellendros was relieved his lieutenant had survived the ordeal. The dragon was as loyal as any dragon could be, though Khellendros would never completely trust him—or anyone. The Storm Over Krynn had not killed him during the Dragon Purge, and had in fact kept other dragons from killing him, too.

“My purpose now is to serve you, and slay Dhamon Grimwulf,” Gale growled, the deep sounds reverberating off the cavern walls. Sand trickled down through the cracks in the rocks.

“His death shall come in time,” the Storm answered. “For now, I would have you watch my desert I have something to attend to.”