The Dragons

Chapter 5

circa 5000 PC

The stag lunged through the thicket, crushing brittle branches with the force of its headlong flight. Nostrils flaring, hooves drumming the ground, the mighty deer lowered branching antlers and bulled ahead, breaking into the clear with a snorting toss of its proud head. Now the animal galloped across a marshy meadow, each leaping step kicking up great clods of moist dirt. Stretching, reaching in long strides, the stag accelerated with a frantic burst of speed. Darting and veering, the great creature lunged over the muddy terrain, its hoofprints a scar of darkness across the wet landscape.

And following that advancing scar was a fast-moving shadow in the form of a serpentine body, with a long tail and broad, tapering wings.

Darlantan saw immediately that the clearing would be the animal’s undoing. The silver dragon tucked his wings and dropped precipitously to land on the stag’s heaving back. Metal-hard talons flexed, argent tips gripping the flesh of shaggy haunches, while Darlantan’s forefeet drove their claws into the stag’s powerful shoulders. The mighty deer stumbled, collapsing from the dragon’s weight, but by then Dar’s jaws had closed around the muscular neck, biting down hard, breaking the hapless animal’s spine.

Tumbling to the ground, the stag rolled through the mud and shuddered to a halt. Darlantan pitched forward, but the graceful dragon spread his wings and glided very low. Blades of marsh grass brushed his belly for a moment, but then he swept upward, finally rising high enough above the ground that he could once more flap his wings and safely gain elevation.

Circling back to the bleeding body of the antlered deer, he bugled his success into the clear, crisp air of the High Kharolis. The blue sky, an azure so deep that it never failed to move Darlantan, fully enclosed the vast valley, vaulting overhead like a magical dome of turquoise resting upon the ring of mighty peaks. How he loved to soar through that sky, to experience the utter, liberating freedom of flight.

Now Kenta and Aysa, silver and bronze shapes against the snowfields, glided into view, and Darlantan knew the others would be following soon. His chest puffed outward in unconscious pride, and again he bellowed word of his triumph with a cry that echoed back and forth between the lofty summits. He saw another speck of brown metal and recognized Burll. Darlantan chuckled, knowing his bronze kin-dragon would never be late for an offering of food.

Proudly the silver male settled beside the corpse of his kill. His chest thrust outward as he watched his nestmates gliding closer. Darlantan’s tail curled around the motionless body as he lifted his head as high as the elk’s antlers had been when the animal was alive. The mighty denizen of the forest weighed more than the winged hunter that had brought it down, and the silver dragon knew this was the largest single kill in the history of his nestmates’ lives.

Kenta, the first to land, dipped her head in a nod of approval, flexing her wings and straightening her tail in a display that Darlantan found strangely intoxicating. She had done the same thing before, this silver female, and he had come to relish the fleeting, uncanny sensation. Uncertain of why he did so, Darlantan felt compelled to offer her the tenderest morsel, ripping the tongue from the elk’s mouth and extending it to her in a silver claw.

“Do you remember when we used to eat bats?” asked Kenta, gulping the tongue in a smooth slurp, rippling the scales all the way down her sinuous neck.

Darlantan chuckled as he tore away a hindquarter of the massive elk. “It would take as many bats as Patersmith has stories to equal the meat in this single haunch.”

He tore into the meat, relishing the taste of the fresh blood, the warm fullness of each bite as he gulped it down. More of the band came into view now-Oro and Mydass, the golden females, with brass Smelt gliding swiftly behind them-so the silver took a generous portion of the kill and withdrew, allowing his nestmates a chance to share the proof of his hunting skill.

“You killed this?” Smelt asked. Darlantan nodded serenely, and the brass dragon continued. “I like deer-especially the big ones. They have so much meat. Do you want the heart, or can I have it?”

The silver dragon’s attention remained upon Kenta, so Smelt pulled the bloody muscle from the stag’s chest and swallowed it in a rippling gulp. “Too bad Aurican can’t see this,” he said, wiping a forked tongue across his crimson jaws.

“Where is our golden kin-dragon?” Darlantan asked, amused by the serpentine metallic shapes clustered around the rapidly diminishing corpse. It pleased him to feed his nestmates, but he wanted Aurican to behold his trophy before it was merely a clean-picked skeleton.

“Oh, I saw him flying toward the sunset, maybe a dozen sunrises ago,” Smelt explained while gulping a mouthful of venison. “He was in the foothills, and I flew along with him for a while. But it seemed as if he didn’t want to talk.” With another convulsive gulp, he swallowed, then swiveled his long neck toward the west. “He should have heard your summons, but maybe he’s too far away. Or perhaps he made a kill of his own.”

“Yes… perhaps,” declared Darlantan, disappointed. Still, he brightened at the sight of the stag’s bristling antlers as Smelt lifted the skull and used his serpentine tongue to slurp out the tender brain. It was as though the ghost of the great deer danced before them. At least that rack would provide some proof of his accomplishment. He could take the trophy into the cavern to show Patersmith, who still took pride in the accomplishments of his growing charges.

Restlessness soon took the place of reflection. Darlantan stood stiff-legged, flexing his wings. He would remember this place and return for the antlers, but for now he was ready to fly. Without a farewell, he departed, leaving his nestmates to break the joints and suck the marrow from the remnants of the kill.

A short time later, as he flew beside a high mountain ridge, he heard a squawk of outrage from the other side of the rocks, followed by a dragonlike bellow of anger. Tipping his wing, Darlantan veered up and over the crest, coming to rest on the jagged but solid summit of the ridge.

Below he saw Blayze crouched on a shoulder of rock, jaws gaping as he faced a fluttering, feather-winged creature that the copper dragon had trapped against the mountainside. The birdlike beast shrieked again, hooked beak widespread. Blayze’s jaws spread wider, and Dar saw his nestmate’s belly swell, ready to hurl forward the deadly acid of his breath weapon.

Before that lethal spume emerged, Darlantan pounced, sweeping downward, reaching with his claws as he swept past the ledge. He snatched the griffon-he recognized the feathered flier by its tawny feline hindquarters-in his claws and pulled it away, allowing his momentum to carry both the fliers down the mountainside, away from Blayze. The copper’s blast of acid seared the rocky wall, trickling downward, hissing and burning against Darlantan’s tail as the silver dragon swept the struggling creature to safety. Landing on his haunches on a lower shoulder of the slope, Darlantan held the squirming griffon off the rocks to avoid crushing the creature with his own weight.

“That wyrm took my prey!” hissed the griffon, twisting with surprising strength. A sharp beak jabbed Darlantan’s neck, and with a yelp, the silver dragon threw the hawk-faced flyer to the side, struggling to hold his balance on the steep mountainside.

“That was my fight, Darlantan!” snarled Blayze, still crouched over the mountain sheep. “I don’t need your help!”

“I’m not trying to help you,” Darlantan replied. “I just wanted to talk to the griffon.”

That feather-winged flier, meanwhile, had spiraled away and come to rest on a knob of rock. Now it straightened powerful wings, smoothing ruffled feathers with long strokes of its hooked beak. Darlantan crouched above, studying the creature curiously. Blayze, after glaring at his silver nestmate, decided to eat instead of pursue the quarrel.

“Don’t think you can kill me just because you saved me from that snake!” spat the griffon, rearing back on its feline hindquarters and flailing the air with powerful, taloned foreclaws.

“Why would I save you to kill you?” Dar asked, puzzled by the statement.

“Who knows? Why would your kin-dragon take my sheep when he could easily kill one of his own?” huffed the creature, casting a nervous glance up the mountainside. Darlantan saw that Blayze was crouched there, and when the copper raised his head, he saw jaws dripping with fresh blood.

“I saw the ewe first,” huffed the half-hawk, half-lion creature, fixing bright yellow eyes upon the silver dragon. The griffon blinked appraisingly, and Darlantan sensed it was more curious than angry.

“Blayze never was much for waiting his turn,” the silver serpent explained. “Was that courage or foolishness that was leading you to fight him?”

The griffon blinked in surprise, then settled back on all fours. Apparently he had decided Darlantan wasn’t an immediate threat, for he began grooming his chest and shoulders with one foreleg’s talons as he spoke.

“Actually, I didn’t think I could escape. And I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t swept me away. Why did you do that?”

“I’ve never met a griffon. My name is Darlantan. Do you have a name?”

“Ravenclaw, at your service. And I will remember you, silver Darlantan. But now, since my kill was taken, I must fly to the hunt.”

With that, the griffon took wing, eagle feathers streaming in the mountain air, the sleek form gliding toward the lower valleys, where presumably he could hunt without interference from bullying dragons.

Darlantan also flew, but his course took him upward, not down, until he soared over the ramparts of the lofty range. He left behind the High Kharolis, the vast mountain range that domed over the grotto and its surrounding cavern. Dar’s flight took him away from that timeless home, into lower regions of forest that the dragon had flown above, but rarely inspected.

As he flew he reflected on an old lesson-“Mercy is strength,” Patersmith had said, “for it breeds friendship.” Indeed, he felt a kinship with the griffon, a warm pleasure that the creature was still alive. He was glad he had been merciful; Blayze would have killed the creature.

Through many sunrises, he soared above vast woodlands, awed by the extent of forest. In places, ponds, streams, or lakes sparkled blue amid swaths of greenery. Occasionally a knob of rocky bluff jutted upward, and when he grew tired, the silver dragon invariably came to rest upon one of these. He relished the pastoral swath of green, vaster by far than the Valley of Paladine. The lush forests seemed to blanket an entire portion of the world with their deceptively soft-looking foliage.

Game was plentiful here, and each night he was able to kill a deer or pig for his sustenance. For sunrises that stretched into seasons and even longer he remained in the forest. If it hadn’t been for the continuing absence of Aurican, Darlantan’s exploration would have been a marvelous adventure. Yet the fact that his golden brother had been gone so long he found increasingly disturbing-either because something bad had happened, or because the gold had perhaps discovered something extremely fascinating. Aurican was quite capable of becoming so distracted by a wondrous discovery that he would quite forget to inform his nestmates.

Dar’s emotions wrestled constantly between concern and envy. He wasn’t at all certain if he hoped Aurican had been distracted by some discovery, for there were times when it would have satisfied him to find his brother in some kind of real distress-nothing so serious that Darlantan couldn’t have immediately come to his aid, however. The silver dragon flew on in growing agitation, his concerns slowly gaining prominence over suspicion and jealousy.

Finally his persistence was rewarded by a glimpse of shimmering golden scales, a serpentine shape coiled in a small, tree-shaded clearing. Braying a greeting, Darlantan tucked his wings and angled between lofty pines to land precisely in front of his brother. The draft of his wings drove a great cloud of dust and pine needles into Auri’s face, an effect that Darlantan found not displeasing.

“Greetings, Cousin,” declared Aurican, blinking his eyelids, then sneezing a cloud of dust back at Darlantan. The gold dragon’s head reached high above the ground, while his sinuous body curled between several trees.

The silver chuckled, wrapping his tail around a tree trunk and squatting on the loam beside the sinuous golden form. “The ground here is soft, but surely there’s more than that to bring you so far.”

“Shhh.” Auri’s inner eyelids lowered lazily, his snout subtly gesturing toward the woods.

Darlantan mimicked his brother’s air of indolence, allowing his gaze to shift far to the side in their childhood game of misdirection. He sniffed with casual curiosity, startled by a strange and intriguing smell wafting through the air. The odor was curiously sweet and complex, suggesting a variety of sources.

But nothing unusual was visible.

For a long time, the two serpents remained still. Finally Darlantan saw movement. Several figures skulked through the forest, advancing cautiously amid the shelter of the trees, drawing closer to the meadow, clearly interested in observing the dragons. The beings were quite pathetic-looking. They walked on two legs like Patersmith, but were skinny, if perhaps a little taller than the tutor. Though hair dangled from the scalps of these creatures, their faces were completely barren of whiskers. They wore skins of supple leather around their loins; their legs and arms were bare, with additional leather strapped to their feet. Darlantan could smell the skin of elk and deer.

Finally the strangers emerged into the open, and Aurican tipped his head regally toward the newcomers, then turned to regard his nestmate, an expression of gentle rebuke in the downward curl of his snout.

“You startled them rather badly, you know,” Auri explained. “I’ve spent many seasons trying to tame them. Actually, I’m rather impressed they returned so readily.”

Darlantan studied the approaching figures, realizing that, despite the uniform slenderness of their physiques, they were well muscled, wiry sinew rippling visibly beneath their pale skin. They carried curved wooden weapons in their hands, and several were girded with slender blades worn at the waist. Their eyes were bright and curious, reflecting a certain natural intelligence.

Then the silver dragon noticed the ornaments. Dar blinked in astonishment and envy as he saw a chain of golden links, the metal smooth and polished to the same sheen as Auri’s scales. The gold dragon inclined his head low, and one of the two-footed beings placed the beautiful chain over his head. Rising again, Aurican looked about proudly, letting the glimmering metal jangle down to his broad chest.

Then the gold dragon turned over his forepaw, and Darlantan saw that Auri clutched one of the gemstones he was so fond of caressing. This stone seemed to be a large, smooth-surfaced opal, and it remained floating in the air after the golden talons withdrew. Slowly, reverently, one of the two-legged creatures advanced, reaching out to stroke the opal, then finally drawing the stone to his skinny chest. With a bow at the onlooking dragons, the little being stepped backward to show the gift to his companions.

“They are called elves,” Auri explained as more and more of the pale figures emerged from the woods. “Remember? Patersmith told us about them. They are possessed of certain skills that even a dragon might find useful-and, Dar, I think they have a knowledge of magic!”

Awed and once more a little jealous, Darlantan raised his own sinuous neck, his head rising just a bit higher than Aurican’s. He looked at the gathering of Aurican’s pets-his elves-and he found himself admiring their courage. He saw that they whispered and muttered among themselves, pointing at the two dragons, clearly conversing in some sort of crude language.

“They even speak,” Auri explained, as if reading his nestmate’s mind. “In fact, they have a wealth of lore. I have met a chieftain who tells tales of my mother, Aurora!”

“That seems an unusual discovery,” Dar agreed, “for beings so small, with neither scales nor hair, to have lore of the ancients. It is strange that Patersmith did not tell us more about them.”

“Perhaps he did not know, for he believes magic to be vanished from Krynn, and yet these elves can work magic on metal.”

Darlantan watched and listened attentively as Aurican said something to one of the elves in a strange tongue. The elf then opened a satchel at his side and held up a powder of bright flakes in his hand. Darlantan stared, intrigued, as the elf let the stuff trickle back into the leather sack, a shower of miniature sparkles, each as bright as Aurican’s scales.

“They bring the gold from the rivers like this, but then they work a spell of magic, weaving the dust into these links that adorn me.”

“That is a wonder,” Darlantan agreed. “But are you certain it is magic?”

“Look.” Auri nodded toward the woods, where another elf was emerging into view. This was a tall, proud male, whose hair was dark, in contrast to the strawlike yellow of his fellows. He strode boldly up to Darlantan and raised a shimmering object in his hands, a thing so beautiful that the mighty dragon all but gasped in astonishment.

It was a necklace of links, a gently chiming chain as perfectly brilliant as Aurican’s, save that it was made out of pure, gleaming silver.

Darlantan lowered his head in imitation of Auri’s gesture of acceptance, allowing the elf to place the chain over his head. He felt the weight against his scales as he rose and allowed the chain to jangle down the length of his long neck. Now he, too, felt the adornment of the elves, and his earlier envy was replaced by a twinge of shame.

“Can you tell them I am grateful?” he asked Aurican, looking with renewed interest into the elf’s deep, emerald-colored eyes.

“I will tell them for now, but soon you will know their language as well.” The gold made a declaration in that lilting, musical tongue-it wasn’t primitive at all, Dar realized-and the elves bowed toward Darlantan. The dark-haired male who had bestowed the silver necklace made a soft, pleasant-sounding reply.

“Now they invite us to journey into the forest with them,” Aurican explained. “They were just about to take me there when you arrived, but they have extended the invitation to us both.”

Darlantan eyed the woodlands skeptically. “The trunks are close together, Cousin,” he said. “How do you intend to pass? Magic?”

Aurican smiled slyly, rearing back on his haunches and placing his foreclaws onto the golden chain. “You are closer to the truth than you might think. Of course, spell magic was lost with our mothers, but we have within us the means.”

Abruptly Darlantan wasn’t looking at Aurican, but at a tall, handsome elf who stood in the place where the gold dragon had been. The elf threw back his head and laughed, and only then did Dar recognize his nestmate.

“That is magic!” he gasped. It was strange, even incomprehensible, to try to understand that this little creature was actually the mighty Aurican!

“You must join us,” the gold dragon in the body of the elf said, bowing low and sweeping a hand before Darlantan.

“But…”

Unwilling to appear ignorant before Aurican and his pets, Darlantan reared back in the posture his golden nestmate had assumed, but nothing happened.

“Perhaps it is a gift only of gold dragons,” Dar suggested, trying to conceal his disappointment.

“No, I suspect that it will work for you-albeit not for our nestmates of the brown metals. You must form a picture of your new shape,” Aurican encouraged. “Choose what you will. I became an elf, in honor of our hosts. But any form is available. Just be sure it’s something that will fit between the trees,” he added with a grin.

And then Darlantan knew. His claws closed around the chain, and he felt the world expanding. In a heartbeat, he stood among the elves, securely balanced on his clawless feet. His stature was broader than the elves, though he was their equal in height.

“Very appropriate,” Aurican declared with a pleased nod.

Darlantan touched the whiskers that cascaded from his chin, strangely delighted by the arcane transformation and pleased that he could make his shape a tribute to Patersmith. A moment later the sturdy figure of the tutor, his gnarled hand still touching the silver chain, followed the file of elves into the forest shadows.