The Eve of the Maelstrom

11 Dragon Magic

Gilthanas stood just inside the cave entrance, sword in hand, blond hair fluttering about his stern face. Behind him, practically filling the entrance, was a silver dragon.

“Release Dhamon Grimwulf, or you will die!” Gilthanas ordered. The elf, displaying no fear, pointed his sword at the shadow dragon. Gilthanas’s keen elven sight allowed him to see in the near-blackness of the cave, to make out Dhamon sitting naked in a pool of blood inches away from the dragon’s talons.

Dhamon blinked and turned toward the elf. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. His throat was impossibly dry. He struggled to his feet, his legs seeming like lead weights. He took a few slow steps nearer the shadow dragon and steadied himself.

“Dhamon,” Gilthanas said. “Come toward me.”

Dhamon shook his head, swallowed hard, and tried again to draw some moisture into his mouth. Gilthanas, he mouthed, wait.

“I have not harmed this man,” the shadow dragon said, his voice haunting and harsh.

The voice of an old man, Gilthanas thought. But not the voice of a feeble dragon, the elf knew. He and Silvara had spoken briefly with the blind villagers when they arrived in Brukt to search for Dhamon. There, they had learned how the shadow dragon slaughtered the Knights of Takhisis and that Rig and the others were on Dhamon’s trail.

“Indeed, I have saved this man,” the shadow dragon continued. “And I will not harm you—unless you force me to do otherwise.” Translucent black-gray scales shimmered, and the dragon seemed to shrink, just enough so he could better maneuver in the chamber. He slid by Dhamon and stretched toward Gilthanas. “I would speak with your silver companion now.”

“As you wish,” came Silvara’s musical voice. “Gilthanas...”

The elf brandished his sword, but didn’t use it. He stood his ground for a moment, then reluctantly stepped aside so the shadow dragon could leave the cave. The limestone chamber brightened a little, and the air seemed to warm a bit.

“You’re hurt.” Gilthanas heard Silvara say to the shadow dragon.

“I will heal,” came the whispered reply.

There were other words exchanged. Gilthanas tried to listen, but the dragon voices dropped to inaudible tones. The elf trusted Silvara to take care of herself, but he hoped she knew what she was doing by talking to the mysterious shadow dragon, a creature as large as she.

Now Gilthanas warily approached Dhamon. The glaive lay several feet away, all but covered by the blood. Dhamon made no move toward it.

“You killed Goldmoon,” Gilthanas began. He glanced over his shoulder toward the cave entrance. The two dragons were snout to snout, as their words, sounding like wind chimes, continued. The elf returned his attention to Dhamon, kept the sword pointed in front of him.

“And Jasper,” Dhamon said. His voice was remarkably soft, and it hurt his throat to speak.

“No. You wounded him severely, but the dwarf is alive.”

“I deserve death,” Dhamon said, looking at Gilthanas’s sword, then raising his eyes to meet the elf’s.

“Some would argue you deserve worse,” the elf returned. “But I’m not your judge, and we’re a long way from Schallsea—where you should be tried and punished.”

“And killed,” Dhamon whispered.

“Maybe,” Gilthanas’s voice was stern, offering no pity. “That’s not for me to decide. Palin would like to believe you weren’t responsible for your actions, that the Red was behind everything. Is that true?”

Dhamon didn’t answer. He searched for Malystryx in his mind, reaching a hand down to feel the cracked scale still imbedded in his leg. He felt her, briefly, like a whisper on the wind. She still watched like an eavesdropper in the secret part of his mind.

“Is that true?” Gilthanas almost shouted.

“She’s still here,” Dhamon said, pointing to his forehead. His voice was getting stronger, though his throat still ached, as did the rest of him. “Maybe you should judge me. If I can’t be rid of her, I’m not safe. I can’t be trusted. Malys wants the glaive. She was forcing me to bring it to her.”

The elf let out a deep breath. “I’ll take your weapon,” he said.

Dhamon gestured toward it.

“And you’re coming with me, too. Eventually we’ll make our way back to Schallsea or to the Tower of Wayreth. It depends where Palin wants you. Silvara risked a lot to come here, flying through Sable’s realm. We’ll take a different route back.”

Dhamon shook his head. “You don’t want me with you. Believe me.”

“Nor do I,” came the raspy voice from the cave entrance. “Unlike the silver, I have no desire to be shackled to a man.” The shadow dragon slid back inside the cave, bringing with him the cold air and the blackness. In the entrance behind him, the sky glowed dark purple and the stars began to shine through. “But I am not done with you. Dhamon Grimwulf, they call you, a former Knight of Takhisis, a renegade of Goldmoon. Malystryx, I will call you—but for only a few hours more.”

“I will help.” The voice was Silvara’s. She stood in the cave entrance, framed by the twilight sky, looking as she had when Gilthanas first met her—a Kagonesti with sparkling eyes and flowing hair.

The elf noiselessly glided into the cave, following the shadow dragon. She stopped briefly to look at Gilthanas. “Wait for us outside, and be vigilant,” she said. “He tells me a legion of red spawn is patrolling the mountains, and there are Rig and the others to watch for.”

Gilthanas opened his mouth to protest, but quickly thought better of it. His silver dragon companion had made her mind up about something, and his relationship was too tenuous with her to argue about it right now. “Be careful,” was all he said. “Call me if you need me.” He watched her follow the shadow dragon into the darkest recesses of the cave. Then he slipped outside.

Gilthanas drew his cloak about him as he paced. The elf knew a lot about dragons and was desperately in love with the silver dragon, but he’d never seen a creature before similar to the one in there with her. The shadow dragon had blinded an entire village. He prayed to the departed gods that Silvara was safe in the creature’s presence and that she knew what she was doing.

He’d known Silvara for decades, having met her a lifetime ago, though it had taken him a long time to admit he was in love with her. When she revealed that she was not a Kagonesti, but in reality a silver dragon, he spurned her and went his own way. It took him a long time to realize how lonely was the way, how incomplete was the life he’d chosen.

Palin Majere gave him an opportunity to redeem himself. When Palin and Rig and the others rescued him from the Bastion of Darkness, a Knights of Takhisis stronghold in the Northern Wastes, he threw his lot in with them, vowing to help them fight the overlords. Months ago that promise took him to Southern Ergoth, where he was reunited with Silvara. This time she’d taken on the aspect of a Solamnic knight. He saw a chance to recover the love they once shared. She wanted nothing to do with him at first; she was as cold to him as the frigid landscape that surrounded them. But he was stubborn, and he discovered that she still cared for him.

And so he trod lightly with her now, afraid that to do otherwise would give her cause to leave him. He shoved his stubborn demeanor aside and let his heart rule his actions for a change. He stared at the stars, glimmering like dragon scales.

Silvara gazed at the scale on Dhamon’s leg. Behind her the shadow dragon whispered a word, and a pale silver globe of light appeared above her. The shadow dragon shrank away from the light, clinging to the thick shadows and watching the dragon in elven form.

“Malystryx’s?” she asked, as she pointed at the cracked scale.

Dhamon nodded and explained how he happened to come by it. A dying Knight of Takhisis had slapped it on his leg and doomed him.

“Diabolical magic,” Silvara murmured. She indicated he should sit, and he picked a spot near the shadow dragon, where blood did not soak the floor. Silvara knelt next to him, the globe hovering a few feet away. “You broke the scale?” she asked the dragon.

“Yes,” the creature hissed. “I determined that to remove it would kill him—a fate he did not seem to mind.”

“I deserve to die,” Dhamon whispered. “I killed Goldmoon. Gilthanas said I hurt Jasper. There was a Solamnic spy in Brukt, and I—”

Silvara shushed him and ran her fingers along the scale. “Malys is still buried deep within him,” the shadow dragon said. “The Red refuses to let him go.”

“She’s watching both of you,” Dhamon interrupted. “Through my eyes. I can feel her watching. But I don’t think she can control me any more.”

“No,” the shadow dragon said. “But she must be... completely exorcised.”

“How?” he asked.

The shadow dragon crept closer. “With a spell.”

Silvara looked at the mysterious dragon. “What magic do you know?”

“Some magic is my own. Some magic was taught to me by another,” the dragon answered. His voice sounded fragile.

“Who?”

The shadow dragon shook his head. “My demon to bear, and none of your concern. The scale, however, is.”

“This spell?”

“Give something of yourself, Silvara, as Malys gave something of herself.” The shadow dragon’s eyes focused on her elf form’s hair. “That will do.” He stretched out a talon and cut off a long hank.

Silvara caught the hair, held it, and for several interminable moments met the shadow dragon’s gaze. Something unspoken passed between them. She tied the hair about Dhamon’s leg, like a tourniquet, just above the scale.

“And something of yourself,” Silvara added. She retreated to the pool of blood, cupped a handful, and poured it into the crack between the two halves of the scale.

The shadow dragon closed his eyes, and the cave air grew colder and darker. The silver globe of light faded. The dragon placed a claw over Dhamon’s leg, the weight practically crushing it again. Silvara touched the claw, giving her magical strength to the shadow dragon, just as she could give it to Gilthanas, allowing him to increase the power of his spells whenever they were together.

Dhamon felt terribly cold. His teeth chattered, and he shivered uncontrollably. He was pinned to the frigid floor, against the bitter cold wall, anchored beneath the heavy, chilling touch of the dragon. The Red at the back of his mind spat and hissed, fighting to stay inside Dhamon’s head. But her magic had been weakened when the scale was fractured.

The cold intensified and Dhamon’s eyes drifted shut. He was in a forest, fighting Knights of Takhisis. Feril was there, her tangle of curls fanning away from her unblemished face. Palin and his son, Ulin, were there also, as was Gilthanas. With the glaive, Dhamon could not be bested. He cut down the knights one by one. The last he cradled in his arms, listening to the man’s dying words. The knight, an agent of Malys, had tugged a red scale free from his bleeding chest and thrust it upon Dhamon’s leg.

He drifted toward unconsciousness, the cold claiming him, the darkness welcoming and swallowing him.

It was dark outside. Gilthanas continued to pace. Silvara had been inside with the shadow dragon for more than an hour. He’d heard nothing—nothing but the wind and chimes that he tried unsuccessfully to decipher. Once he heard Dhamon moan and mention Feril’s name, then Palin’s, and finally Goldmoon’s. The elf flinched at the last name.

“Gilthanas.”

The elf turned to look into the cave, then quickly realized the voice came from in front of him. The air shimmered, and a hazy image of a black-cloaked man appeared, seemingly floating like a ghost. The image sharpened and a second one dressed in white joined it.

“The Master. Palin,” the elf stated.

The image of Palin nodded, and Gilthanas noted that his sorcerer-friend looked especially tired. “The Master and I were searching for Feril and the others,” Palin began. His voice sounded hollow and distant.

“As were we,” Gilthanas added.

“We discovered they passed through Brukt and went into the mountains. But we have not found them,” the Master interjected. “Not yet.”

“We have found Dhamon,” the elf said.

“Is he...” Palin’s question hung unfinished in the air.

“I don’t know how he is. Silvara’s with him, inside, along with some mysterious black dragon. I think it’s a shadow dragon. But I intend to find out what’s going on.”

Behind Gilthanas, a large black shadow slipped from the cave and dropped over the ledge, spreading its wings and disappearing into the deepening night.

Dhamon’s eyes fluttered open. Silvara was in front of him. The shadow dragon was nowhere to be seen.

“The dragon said we could stay until morning. How are you feeling?”

“Cold.”

She helped him to his feet. “There’s some water over here.

Let’s get you cleaned and wash that blood out of your clothes. Then let’s get you dressed.”

“Silvara?”

“You can come in.”

Gilthanas stepped inside. The cave was lit softly by the glowing silver orb that continued to hover in the air.

Dhamon was at the back of the cave, dressed in tattered black leggings and the black leather tunic he’d worn under the Knights of Takhisis armor. He was holding the glaive. It felt warm in his grip, though no longer uncomfortable. He leaned it against the cave wall and put on his black cloak. The garments were still damp from the washing.

“Dhamon? It is Dhamon! Usha, look!” Blister rushed in, nearly knocking over a surprised Gilthanas. Usha Majere followed, stopping just ahead of the elf. The kender hurried toward the back of the cave, pausing only a moment to ogle the light globe and to edge around the pool of blood. “What happened to your hair? Your hair’s black.” She put her hands on her hips. “It used to be blond.”

Dhamon glanced at the pool of the shadow dragon’s blood that spread on the floor. His eyes were flecked with silver.

“What happened?” the kender persisted.

“The dragon’s blood,” Dhamon said finally. “The blood wouldn’t wash out.”

Silvara smiled a hello to Usha, joining Gilthanas at the cave entrance. She read the myriad questions on his face, and her eyes told him the answers would come later. “Did Palin send them?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “Do you think you can carry all of us?

“Of course.” She grinned, her elven fingers folding over his. He squeezed her hand, drew her close. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet,” he replied. “Palin will contact us in the morning. I suspect he’ll first want us to head toward the coast of Khur, maybe search for Feril and Rig.”

She tipped her head. “And then find the land of the Dimernesti?”

He nodded.

“There’s a sea dragon there, you know,” Silvara said. “A very big one.”