The Eve of the Maelstrom

20 Rebirth

Veylona’s knees shook and her teeth chattered, and she cupped both hands over her mouth so no sound would escape. The Dimernesti was peering around a rock at the lip of the plateau, staring at the nine massive dragons, five of them overlords. She was sweating more than she had after trudging for days through the desert of the Northern Wastes. The dragons terrified her.

Jasper knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder giving her no comfort. Groller and Fury were right behind them, and a trembling glance over the kender’s shoulder told Blister that the big half-ogre was every bit as overcome with fear as she.

“Dragonfear,” Palin whispered to Veylona. “It’s an aura the dragons exude.”

“Can you do something?” asked Usha. Her gold eyes were wide. She’d been around dragons before, when dozens of them battled Chaos in the Abyss, but she had never seen dragons so huge.

“I can,” Jasper softly offered. The fingers of his right hand were wrapped tightly around the Fist. “This can influence others, bolstering their courage,” he whispered as he began to concentrate. “If it doesn’t bolster our courage quickly, I think a few of us will be running back down this mountain any moment.”

Jasper closed his eyes. “Goldmoon, I have faith,” he said in a hushed tone. “Have I the strength to...?” His mind wrapped around the energy that played along the scepter’s haft. “Praise the departed gods.”

Across the plateau, the wind started blowing. Hot as a furnace, it was tinged with the scent of sulphur. Lightning flashed repeatedly, illuminating the dragons circling in the sky.

Jasper opened his eyes, studying Dhamon, Rig, and Fiona as they came closer. The expressions on their faces told him they were no longer as afraid. Veylona quietly moved behind him.

“So dry,” she said, her voice faint. “Skin hurts. My eyes burn. So far from ocean home.” The Dimernesti looked up at the sky, her eyes blinking at each lightning stroke. Her pale blue nose quivered, and her lips turned down in a slight frown. A storm was brewing, but she could tell there would be no cleansing rain, only this dry, uncomfortable heat. “Stand a chance, I thought,” she continued. “When Brine died, thought more dragons could die.” Her pupils were wide, her hand clenched around the pommel of the sword Palin had given her, knuckles so pale they looked deathly white.

“There’s always a chance,” Usha said. “There’s—”

Suddenly the wind keened loudly, and the ground was rocked by thunder. Palin and the others swayed, struggling to keep from being pitched over the side of the mountain.

Malystryx was moving slow and stately. All dragon eyes were on her, all dragon heads lowered in respect.

“What’s happening?” Jasper whispered as he tried to peek around the rocks in front of him.

“Something,” Blister replied. “I think the red is going to summon Takhisis.”

Palin pursed his lips and eyed the dragons, trying to pick out the weakest. He wanted to launch a strike but realized they might have to fight all the dragons at once if they revealed themselves now. Gilthanas is right, he thought to himself, this is suicide. We haven’t the strength to defeat even one of them. Aloud, he whispered, “I don’t know what Malys is doing. But I think our time to act may be nearing. We should—”

Khellendros unleashed a bolt of lightning that struck the smooth surface of the plateau and blasted away chunks that harmlessly pelted the overlords’ thick hides. When the sulphurous smell and dust dissipated, the humans saw that the bolt had been directed near a rocky altar that stood alone in the midst of that vast space.

“The magical treasure,” Malys said, her thick, inhuman voice louder than the drumlike thunder, easily carrying above the howling wind. “Place it here.”

One by one, the dragons complied. Their great paws gently scooped up the arcane baubles and carefully placed them on the altar and around its base, oblivious to the people who watched.

“When?” Blister’s voice sounded fragile. “When do we... you know...” Her fingers touched the dagger pommels. “When—”

“Everything!” Malys cried. Her voice rocked the mountain, and the stone formations trembled. She threw back her head and opened her mouth, breathing a stream of fire high into the sky. Then her eyes widened, as she spied the silver and gold dragons descending, so high in the sky they looked like stars toppling toward the earth. The black, green, and blue dragons that had been circling rose to meet them. “Everything! Now!”

Save Khellendros, the dragon overlords worked faster. His paw slowly moved to his treasure pile, nudged the crystal keys, the Medallion of Faith.

A single medallion?

“Fissure!” the blue dragon spat the word so softly that Malys couldn’t hear it. He glanced behind him and saw a small gray shadow. He’d kept the huldre’s presence secret and brought him here, intending to use him to help open the portal when the propitious moment came. “The other medallion, faerie!”

The little gray man shrugged.

“Give it back,” the dragon hissed.

“I don’t have it.” The huldre returned Khellendros’s stare, his smooth face impassive.

Khellendros growled, casting his gaze around the arena. He nudged the keys closer to the altar, and also the lone medallion, keeping the lance at the edge of the treasure circle, near his wounded claw. All this time, he watched Malys.

“Too long has this world been without a dragon goddess!” Malystryx cried. The great red dragon reared back on her haunches, her neck stretched toward the heavens. “Too long has there been no undisputed power, no mighty voice setting the course of Ansalon. Now one has arisen. It is I, and I am all!”

“Malystryx!” Gellidus roared. The air shimmered white around him, as ice crystals spilled from between his jagged teeth and instantly melted in the hot air.

“The new Dark Queen!” Beryl and Onysablet cried practically in unison. Acid spilled from the Black’s jowls, hissing and popping and melting coins and bits of jewelry on the altar.

“The Dark Queen!” began a chant from the rest of the dragons. It was picked up almost as a whisper by the dragons waiting at the base of the plateau. Faint, almost imperceptible, the voices of men joined them.

Steam spiraled from the Red’s cavernous nostrils, and flames licked around her teeth. The tendrils of fire seemed to take on a life of their own. They looked like miniature red dragons sprouting from her vast, horrible mouth.

Palin Majere’s face paled. Somewhere, amid the leaping fires, his aching eyes seemed for a moment to see again the silver visage of the Shadow Sorcerer, who had betrayed them.

“What’s happening?” called Blister, her tiny voice almost lost amid the tumult of sky and mountain.

“It’s a spell,” replied Palin. His voice trembled. “She’s not summoning Takhisis. She thinks she is Takhisis!”

“But I always thought Takhisis was supposed to be beautiful,” persisted the kender. “Sounds to me as if Malys has gone funny in the head. Sounds to me...”

Palin hushed her with a gesture. “Now!” he urged his friends. “We must act now! We cannot wait for Gilthanas and Silvara! The silver and gold dragons are too far away and have the evil dragons above to contend with!” The sorcerer stood and pointed at Gellidus, drawing on the power of Dalamar’s ring, summoning his own fire. Bright red flames leapt from Palin’s scarred hands toward the white overlord.

The masking spell abandoned, their Knights of Takhisis guises ran off them like water. They stood revealed in their true forms.

“Now!” Palin shouted.

Gellidus’s chanting erupted in a howl as frosty scales melted beneath Palin’s artifact-powered blast of fire.

Rig and Fiona rushed forward, keeping under Palin’s fiery blast and charging at Gellidus. The young Knight of Solamnia had insisted on attacking this particular dragon, the one who held Southern Ergoth in his frigid grip and terrorized the people her knighthood had sworn to protect. And Rig had volunteered to help her.

Blister and Jasper wheeled toward Onysablet, the great Black, Veylona at their heels.

Groller charged Beryl, the green. For my wife, he thought, and for my daughter too. For the people of my village. Beryl had not been responsible, it was a smaller dragon, he knew. But this was a green one all the same, and the half-ogre was aided by Fury racing alongside him.

Usha began to move forward, but Palin clamped his right hand down on her shoulder. “Don’t try to protect me,” she said. Her long sword gleamed.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice faint. “I need you to protect me.

She instantly understood. He was the greatest threat to the dragons and would become their most likely target. “With my life,” she answered, raising the shield, hefting the sword, and waiting.

Dhamon was darting toward the center of the plateau, straight at the great red overlord. Feril was torn. She stared at Gellidus, the dragon who had ruined her homeland. She wanted to fight him with every fiber of her being. But her heart... Dhamon closed on Malys, alone. An instant later, however, Feril was behind Dhamon, focusing on the Crown of Tides and calling forth what little moisture was held in the air.

“Malystryx!” Dhamon roared. “You made me a murderer! You made me kill Goldmoon! You stole my life, damn you!”

The great red overlord glanced down and noted the presence of the detested human, the lowly man who had defied her and broken free of her control and kept the glaive. Moments ago she would have stopped anything to slay him. But moments ago she was merely a dragon. Now she was a goddess, a being beneath the pettiness of such revenge.

Malys continued her spell, only vaguely registering the sound of human feet that scrabbled up the treasure pile, only mildly feeling the tickle of a sword striking against the thick plates of her belly. Dhamon Grimwulf could not harm her. Perhaps she would slay him when she finished, as a warning to men who dared defy dragonkind.

The Kagonesti watched as Dhamon struck again and again at Malys. His sword clanged ineffectually against her bright red hide, as if each of his blows were parried by a thick metal shield. Tears spilled from her cheeks as she watched him, realizing now how fully the dragon had been responsible for his heinous acts. “How could I have blamed you for Goldmoon?” she murmured.

The Crown of Tides tingled, swept up her tears and began to multiply them into a river of tears.

In the sky overhead, the black, green, and blue dragons closed the distance to a swarm of glittering silvers carrying Knights of Solamnia. Gold dragons were in the lead and the most numerous. But copper, brass, and bronze dragons were among them, as well.

Gilthanas was astride Silvara, hands clasping a long sword. He spotted a fork of lightning as it stretched down toward the mountains, and his mind snared it, twisting it in midair and hurling it back against the lead black dragon. The black howled and flapped madly to stay aloft, its scales and blood raining down on the plateau.

The dozen silvers behind Silvara were streaking forward. She had called more, but these were the first to reach the Window of the Stars portal, perhaps the only ones who would make it here in time. They would not be enough, Silvara knew, but they could be trusted to sacrifice themselves to keep these foul dragons from joining the overlords below and interfering with Palin’s bid to stop Takhisis. She and Gilthanas would gladly sacrifice themselves, too, if necessary.

Fast behind her were Terror and Splendor, bronze and brass dragons who wanted no part of living beneath the Dark Queen again. They, too, would sacrifice themselves for this just cause.

“A man?” On the plateau, Beryl, the green overlord, paused in her chant and spotted the half-ogre rushing toward her. She inhaled sharply and dropped her head, opened her mouth and breathed a cloud of caustic gas. It drifted toward the half-ogre and the red-haired wolf. Both flattened themselves against the ground as the cloud passed over their heads.

Groller groaned. The liquid burned his eyes and lungs, stung his skin and overwhelmed his senses. Fury nudged his side. The wolf’s coat was drenched with the stuff, but it did not seem to affect him. With the wolf’s prodding, Groller kept going toward the dragon.

Beryl smelled them as Groller and the wolf came closer. She felt the man’s sword strike her and felt the wolf nip at her dew claws. They could not hurt her; they were not worthy of her attention.

Instead, Beryl stared at Malys. She saw the Red shimmer. Something was happening! The ceremony was working! Beryl’s chant came louder and quicker.

“Malystryx, my queen!” Gellidus the White howled. Palin’s flames had melted away a patch of Gellidus’s scales. And now a woman with flame-colored hair and a dark man, Fiona and Rig, struck at the white dragon. Fiona’s sword drew blood, as she targeted her swings for places where the flames had melted away the scales. The mariner labored at the white dragon’s side, the glaive light in his hands. He swung the weapon and watched with amazement as it sheared through the dragon’s scales and yielded a line of red.

“Malystryx!” Gellidus called again. The man was hurting him. A human was causing him pain! The White turned his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing on Rig.

The white dragon inhaled sharply, drawing the hot hateful air into his lungs. Then he exhaled, releasing a blast of cold, a winter storm.

Fiona was familiar with Frost’s tactics. She barreled into Rig, knocking the mariner away from the force of the sharp ice crystals.

Rig slammed his teeth together and felt his legs shake from the intense cold. He sank to the ground, now wet with the melted ice particles. His arms and chest bled from dozens of wounds where the rapierlike crystals had struck him. He knew he would have been killed, had Fiona not knocked him away.

His hands stayed tight around the glaive haft, and he somehow found the strength to stand and swing the blade again.

“Rig!” Fiona called. Struggling to her feet, she saw he was badly hurt. She was shivering, too. “Move in close, where his breath can’t reach you! Hurry!”

The mariner complied, pressing against Gellidus’s underbelly. He swung the glaive at the thick plates that protected the dragon.

Fiona stabbed at the dragon’s open wound, her arm pumping faster as she heard the dragon’s intake of breath. She pressed herself against Gellidus’s side, feeling an intense rush of cold against her back. She was barely out of the reach of the icy shards.

Malys watched Gellidus breathe ice again, staring at the glaive the man was wielding against the white overlord. It was the one she had coveted and had wanted to help fuel her ceremony. The man was gravely hurt. He was stubborn, determinedly clinging to life and to the weapon, as he struck again.

Malystryx felt power flowing from the magical treasure pile and into her—into her claws, up her legs and toward her furnacelike heart. The ceremony was working! The world before her stood stock-still for a single, delicious, unbearable instant, and in that moment she knew she was a goddess.

She would kill Dhamon Grimwulf, then the man swinging the glaive. She would take the glaive and secret it away from all men. She was Takhisis, the All. She tossed back her head and breathed a gout of flame into the heavens. Fire fell back on her, and she relished the sensation.

Dhamon felt the fire strike his shoulders, biting into him. Not so painful as the glaive had felt after he killed Gold-moon, he told himself, nor so painful as being under the red overlord’s total domination.

“Malys!” Dhamon bellowed.

Feril stared up at the red dragon’s massive chin, felt the air cool about her from the gathering water, felt the crown pulse on her head. She concentrated on the ancient bauble, on the dragon, and felt a rush of energy. A beam of water erupted from the crown, a spray as tight and straight as a spear. The water reached up to Malys, knocking the red overlord off balance, sending her back from her magical treasure pile. A white cloud of steam rose into the air, engulfing the dragon.

“You dare!” came a rumbling cry from inside the cloud.

Dhamon spun away from the dragon, his feet slamming against the treasure and carrying him toward Feril. He leapt at her, knocking her to the ground in the same instant that a ball of fire shot out of the steam. It crackled above their bodies and, by happenstance, struck Gellidus squarely in his chest.

“My queen!” Gellidus bellowed.

Fiona fell at the white dragon’s side, catching only the misdirected heat of Malys’s fiery blast. But it was enough to blister her skin and send a wave of pain through her body. Despite her training, the young Knight of Solamnia screamed. Her sword branded her palm, the blade clattering to the ground, and Fiona doubled over.

Rig, too, narrowly avoided the fire blast, protected by Gellidus’s belly. He saw Fiona fall, felt tears well up in his eyes. “Shaon,” he whispered, fearing that Fiona would succumb to a dragon as Shaon had. He didn’t rush to her, though. Instead, he raised the glaive again and struck a blow at the White, cleaving through dragonflesh and striking bone beneath.

Gellidus screamed, beating his wings, and headed into the sky, away from the cloud of black, green, blue and silver dragons overhead. He wanted no part of any more fighting. Krynn’s new dragon goddess could damn him, he realized, but Gellidus, who detested pain and heat, turned his great head toward the west and with painful strokes of his wings started back toward the blessed cold of Southern Ergoth.

“Palin!” Usha yelled. “One of them’s leaving: the white one. I think Rig drove it off!” She watched the mariner hurry to Fiona’s side. Usha breathed a sigh of relief when Rig tugged Fiona to her feet and they moved together toward Onysablet. “Palin, perhaps we truly can win.”

The sorcerer shook his head. “We can’t beat them,” Palin said. “We can’t kill them, not even one of them. We haven’t the power. But we can disrupt what Malys has planned. That would be some measure of victory.”

“Don’t talk like that Palin. Maybe we...”

The words died in her throat. Coming from around the pile of magical treasure were the blue and red lieutenants, Gale and Hollintress. Khellendros had sent his most trusted lieutenant to deal with Palin Majere, the hated sorcerer he thought he’d killed months ago on Schallsea Island.

“Finish him,” The Storm hissed. “Finish Palin Majere for Kitiara.”

“Palin...”

“I see them, Usha.” The sorcerer lifted Dalamar’s ring.

Khellendros cast a last glance at Palin and moved toward the treasure and the altar. The blue overlord had little interest in what the men who trespassed here were attempting. He was thinking now only of Kitiara, the queen of his heart.

“Rig!” Blister had her daggers out and hammered with them against Onysablet’s rear claw.

The mariner grimaced. The kender was doing her best, but the daggers were doing nothing to the black dragon. At the kender’s side, Veylona was faring little better. It was clear the sea elf’s blade was enchanted, for it chipped away at some of the black scales and had drawn a thin line of black blood. But it was doubtful the beast was very much hampered.

Fiona and Rig hurried to join the kender and sea elf. Rig glanced toward the front of the dragon, where Jasper was barely holding his own.

The dwarf had struck the black dragon’s front claw with the Fist of E’li. Chilling energy tingled up from the polished wooden haft, rushing into the dwarf’s chest, and sped outward from the scepter into Onysablet.

The Black snarled so loudly the ground shook beneath Jasper’s feet. Acid dripped from her jaws, spattering over the ground and the dwarf. The liquid ate through the dwarf’s clothes, burning his skin, dissolving parts of his short beard and making him gasp.

“Die!” Jasper swung the scepter again, then screamed as acid rained down on him. This time he caught the full brunt of her horrible acidic onslaught.

“I should be dead,” he coughed. “Should be... why?” The Fist, the dwarf suspected. Somehow, god-made, it was keeping him alive. The Fist and... Goldmoon? He sensed her presence near him, as he had felt her when he almost died in the cave. She had helped him regain his faith. Was her spirit helping him now?

Jasper heard his skin sizzle, saw it bubble up, and felt intense pain.

“Jasper!” Rig was coming closer. “Jasper, get out of there. Get—”

A wail divided Rig’s attention. At the same time Onysablet breathed on Jasper, she had kicked backward with her rear leg. Blister and Veylona somersaulted through the air, heading toward the edge of the plateau. Fiona reached out to them, though she was in danger of tumbling over the side herself.

The mariner lunged after her, his arm outstretching, fingers finding the sea elf’s tunic and pulling even as Fiona’s hand locked onto Blister’s wrist. Fiona struggled to keep herself from falling over the side and quickly pulled the kender up.

Rig tugged Veylona over, frowning when he noticed she was unconscious. A trickle of dark blue blood ran over her lips. More blood stained the front of her tunic where the dragon’s rear claw had dug into her flesh. The stain was growing. He laid her down and turned back toward the black dragon. Tending to the sea elf would have to wait—if there was time. If they survived.

“Beast!” Jasper screamed at Onysablet. The dwarf’s eyes were slits, the lids hurt so badly from the acid he couldn’t open them farther. The Black lowered her head, still keeping her eyes on Malystryx and Khellendros. The latter was not bothered by the little men and inched forward, nearer to the magical treasure.

The massive black grinned, more acid spilling from her midnight lips. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the man with the glaive approaching her, and she sensed the magic in the weapon he held, knowing it had wounded Gellidus. Onysablet lashed out with a wing, catching the dark man unawares, sending him away from her and nearly into the path of a lightning bolt breathed by the blind blue dragon.

Rig felt himself flying from the impact. For an instant he feared he would be catapulted into Palin and Usha. A lightning bolt cut through the air near him, ending his musings and sending a searing jolt through him. He saw miniature bolts of lighting dance across the blade of the glaive, but he refused to drop the weapon. A wave of dizziness washed over him.

Can’t lose consciousness! he thought. I must stay awake! He slammed into the ground, the air rushing from his lungs, and the blackness overwhelmed him.

“Beast!” Jasper repeated. The dwarf had realized within moments of coming upon Onysablet that she was more formidable than Brine, the sea dragon he had helped slay. “Foul dragon!” Somehow a little of the acid had found its way inside his mouth. It was burning his tongue and making it difficult for him to speak. He swallowed, and his throat felt on fire.

The Black snaked a claw up, then brought it down, intending to slash at the tiny dwarf, to rip him in two so she could devote her full attention to the red overlord’s ceremony. Instead, the dwarf darted out of the way, and she caught only a piece of him.

Jasper howled and felt his left arm go limp. The pain was ghastly, as the acid ate away at his skin. “I have faith,” he said through clenched teeth. “I have faith!”

He felt about for the presence of Goldmoon’s spirit. It was there, stronger than before, reassuring and comforting. “Faith!” The dwarf stepped closer, trying to find the strength to stay on his feet and to raise the scepter with his still-serviceable right arm. “Die, dragon!” he spat. “Die!” But his arm burned from the acid.

“Your faith is strong,” Goldmoon whispered. “Rely on your faith, my friend.”

The air shimmered next to the dwarf, and suddenly there was the ghostlike image of the healer. Her Medallion of Faith glistened around her neck, sparkling brighter as her form took on substance.

“Goldmoon?” Jasper could barely manage the word.

She nodded, brushing against him, her flesh warm and solid. No ghost. Not any longer. She was dressed in leather leggings and a tunic. Her hair was sprinkled with beads and feathers. She was as his Uncle Flint had described her: young and full of fire. She looked as she had during the War of the Lance.

“I’m here, Jasper,” she said softly, a hint of sadness to her voice. “And I am truly alive. It wasn’t my time to die. River-wind convinced me to return.”

How? He wanted to ask her. How is it possible you’re here? The gods? Did they have a hand in this? Are they not truly gone? I watched Dhamon Grimwulf kill you, he thought. I tried to save you, but I didn’t have the faith to sustain you and keep you alive. I failed you. Forgive me.

She smiled, as if she had heard his thoughts. “There is nothing to forgive, my friend,” she said. “Trust your faith, Jasper. Use your faith.”

He did trust his faith. He saw the spark inside of him and somehow found the strength to lift the scepter. He held it high above and behind him even as Goldmoon leapt forward with a thick quarterstaff.

“Goldmoon’s alive!” Jasper shouted as he slammed the scepter against the black dragon’s leg. “Goldmoon’s alive!” He was practically beaming as the dragon roared. Black scales fell on Jasper, black blood spattered his head. He shut out the pain and thought only of the joy. Goldmoon lived!

The dwarf pulled back on the Fist of E’li, thinking now only of the dragon’s death, and swung it even harder. “My faith will protect me!”

The dragon roared again, lashing out with her other claw. This time she aimed not for the dwarf, but for the silver-and gold-haired woman who had also struck her. The woman’s goodness sickened Onysablet; it was a purity that threatened the black dragon’s perfect foulness and corruption.

The claw barely connected with Goldmoon; only a talon ripped at her tunic. Onysablet howled again, anticipating victory. The black dragon gave all her attention to the healer.

The dwarf would come second. One more thrust and the woman of goodness would be gone.

Behind her, the ceremony in the center of the plateau continued. Onysablet could feel the energy pulsing from the magic items, could sense the electricity in the air. Her black heart pounded in rhythm with the thunder Khellendros was summoning in the skies overhead. It would take her but a moment to kill this woman, then the dwarf would follow. Then she would watch Malystryx as a dragon goddess was reborn.

Khellendros edged closer to the treasure, his claw clutched around the burning lance once wielded by Huma.

Malystryx had weathered a second blast of water from the Kagonesti’s crown, which had pushed her farther away from the magical treasure. The red dragon had not been hurt, merely thrown off balance. Malystryx launched another fiery breath at Feril. This time the elf dodged it on her own and continued to fight at the side of Dhamon Grimwulf, the human who had been Malystryx’s most promising pawn. The only pawn to defy her.

The red overlord snarled, flames wreathing her head. “Dhamon Grimwulf,” she hissed in her deep, inhuman voice, as she slouched toward him. “I intended to slay you after I became a goddess, to punish you then for your foolish insolence. But I will do so now, taking from you the glory of watching me ascend. I shall destroy you and the accursed elf.”

Malys moved closer, snaking her head forward, her malevolent eyes narrowed to gleaming slits.

Behind her, Khellendros’s claws touched the mound of treasure. He now stood where Malystryx had been standing. The blue overlord looked to the sky, where small forms—black, green, blue and silver, gold, and more—dove and swooped. His keen eyes separated the shapes, saw blasts of quicksilver pelt the greens, and watched clouds of acid strike the gold dragon in the lead. The gold dragon had a rider, as did many of the silvers. And that human element made both of those dragons more curious, more threatening.

Three of the blacks were attacking the silver with the elf upon her back. Khellendros watched as the blacks breathed streams of acid. The silver slipped away at the last possible moment, saving herself and her rider.

As Khellendros wished he could have saved Kitiara’s life those long years ago.

“Ah, Kitiara,” he breathed. “My queen. Malystryx’s form is not good enough for you. It is tainted. I shall choose another.”

Fissure was pressed against The Storm’s leg, hiding in his shadow, adding to the magical essence, and thinking of The Gray.

“Khellendros!” Malystryx keened. She had cast a glance over her shoulder, spotted Khellendros in her place. “Move aside! The ceremony is mine! Move away from my treasure!”

The Storm Over Krynn watched Malystryx turn more toward him now, fury etched across her massive red face, flames licking out to burn him. But the fire burned only faintly now. It hurt less than the lance he grasped. The magical energy pulsing into him from the treasure beneath his claws, and the strength the lightning gave him as it raced down from the clouds and pulsed through his scales, was keeping him safe, making him stronger.

Khellendros watched Gale and Hollintress glide toward Palin Majere and a silver-haired woman with golden eyes.

He saw Beryl, the green overlord, claw at a big half-ogre, saw a red-haired wolf dash in front of the Green’s talons and save the big man—as he wished he had saved Kitiara. As Beryl’s claw connected, the wolf seemed to explode in a golden flash of energy, leaving nothing but a stunned half-ogre and an angry green dragon with a sore claw. Khellendros sensed that the wolf, or whatever it truly was, was still nearby, reforming itself.

Then Khellendros watched as Goldmoon, a woman he recognized as the mistress of the Citadel of Light, narrowly dodged Onysablet’s jaws. Acid rained down on her deerskin tunic, sizzling and popping as the dwarf’s skin had done minutes ago.

“Goldmoon!” the dwarf was yelling. “Get out of the way!”

“My faith will protect me!” she called back. There was a deep sadness in her voice and in her eyes. Her fingers trembled as she brought the staff up to strike Onysablet’s descending claw. “My faith.” She sobbed openly, her tears spilling over her cheeks and down her neck to wash over the Medallion of Faith that hung there.

The Medallion! The Storm finally realized Goldmoon, not Fissure, had taken the second medallion from his pile of treasure. Back from the dead to claim her cherished possession. Back from the dead, as Kitiara should be.

“My faith!” she exulted.

Onysablet’s claw bounced harmlessly away from the healer, knocked back by her simple wooden staff. But a second claw was moving in, talons razor sharp and gleaming. Talons aimed at Goldmoon’s heart.

The Storm Over Krynn heard the dwarf calling out, watched the dwarf wield the magical scepter, throwing off Onysablet’s aim.

The Storm watched as the dwarf gathered his strength and leaped to interpose himself between Goldmoon and the claw, while at the same time bringing his own weapon down hard against it.

The talon pierced the dwarf’s heart instead of the healer’s.

But light blossomed forth from the Fist of E’li, scorching Onysablet and hurling the black dragon back into the path of a series of well-aimed blows from the man with the glaive and a red-haired woman. Before them was a small kender, who was also raining jabs against the dragon. They could not kill Onysablet, Khellendros knew. But they could distract the Black for some time.

Goldmoon knelt over the fallen dwarf, tears falling from her face onto his body. “My faith,” she whispered. “You were supposed to die, Jasper, on Schallsea Island. Not me. You were to die that day, my dear, precious friend. I have students to teach. And while I, alone, can do nothing against the dragons, all of my students—and others who will come to me in the future—can do something. That is why I had to come back.”

Nearby, Khellendros watched Dhamon Grimwulf step forward, the black-haired man intent on Malystryx, the elf equally intent at his side. She was using the magic of the coral crown again. Water shot from the band a third time, striking Malystryx as she opened her mouth, creating steam instead of fire. It did not hurt the great red overlord. Dhamon and the elf did not have the power, The Storm knew that. Nor did the attack deter her; instead, it succeeded only in angering her. Dhamon and the elf were less than gnats to Malystryx. Unless...

“Khellendros!” Malystryx cried. “Move away from the treasure! The ceremony is mine! Mine!”

The Storm Over Krynn gave one last look at the tumultuous scene before him. And then the blue dragon saw, seated upon a distant peak, sitting calmly, patiently, the dark form of another wyrm. It was not black; rather, it seemed cloaked in shadow. As he spied it, Khellendros felt, for the briefest of moments, a chill of doubt, as though he beheld a power vast and terrible, hidden behind a cold, inscrutable mask.

“Kitiara,” The Storm repeated to himself. The moment of weakness as gone, and his course lay plain before him. Squarely behind the altar now, Khellendros felt the earth tremble beneath the pile of magical treasure, felt energy flow into his claws and up his legs, down into his belly, across his back. He threw back his head and shot a thick bolt of lightning into the sky, felt a myriad of tiny bolts race down to caress him, to fuel him, to increase his power. The ceremony was working its magical wonders on him.

“No!” Malystryx roared. “I am to ascend! I am to be the one!”

The beautiful vision that had possessed the red overlord’s mind split apart, like a shattered crystal. The world around her dissolved into fire, ice, and steam. Malys felt her mind bleed away, flitting across the plateau in an infinite series of shadows. Yet some part remained within the dragon and glared balefully at the humans who had attacked her.

Khellendros’s legs pulsated with arcane energy. Energy crackled from his horns.

“By all I count holy,” Palin said. He and Usha stared wide-eyed. Khellendros’s scales glowed as bright as the sun, and his eyes glistened like gems.

Light cascading off The Storm Over Krynn illuminated the Window to the Stars and cast a harsh glare over the dragons. The massive blue overlord reared back on his hind legs, standing as a man might stand, wings swept out to his sides, with Huma’s lance still clutched in his claw. The weapon no longer burned him. Lightning flickered around his teeth and eyes, cavorted around his claws, and made the lance glow dazzlingly bright.

The dark huldrefolk at Khellendros’s side squinted, gazing up in disbelief.

“Storm?” Fissure whispered.

Beryl paused in her attack on the half-ogre, lowering her head in deference to The Storm.

Onysablet directed all her attention to Khellendros now, not caring that Goldmoon was pulling away the dwarf’s body, tugging it toward the unconscious blue-skinned woman. “Khellendros!” Onysablet screamed in surprise.

Hollintress and Gale turned to face the blue dragon. Hollintress registered the power that now emanated from Khellendros, while Gale only understood that magical energy covered the overlord and made the plateau tremble wildly.

“No!” Malystryx wailed. “It was to be me! Me!” Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she clawed deep fissues in the ground before her. She glared at Dhamon Grimwulf. “Human!” she spat. “You caused this! You distracted me! You will pay!”

“Dhamon Grimwulf.” The words sounded long and drawn out, coming from The Storm Over Krynn. “Do you want Malystryx, Dhamon Grimwulf?”

Dhamon looked up, squinting through the bright light and the lightning. He saw something glowing fall toward him.

“Do you want the Red?” the thunderous voice repeated. The words were so loud, they hurt his ears.

Dhamon stretched out his hands and caught Huma’s lance. He whirled as Malystryx bore down on him, and darted forward, scrabbling clumsily over the last bits of treasure, closing the gap.

The lance parted Malystryx’s flesh, running deep into her chest and drawing from her a bone-jarring scream that shook the sky. Dhamon tried to pull the lance free, but it was lodged too deeply. Its haft scalded against his palms as the red dragon’s fiery blood spilled across the weapon. Dhamon released the lance and stepped back, watched Malys writhe. Khellendros’s claw streaked toward her, striking her, batting the huge red dragon away and off through the sky.

Malystryx sailed from the plateau, Huma’s lance buried in her, fire erupting from her mouth.

“Khellendros!” Onysablet called. “Khellendros!” The Black lowered her head in respect.

Beryl, the green overlord, snarled, but did the same. “Khellendros!” she cried.

The cry was picked up by Hollintress and Gale, echoed by the dragons at the base of the mountain.

“Hear me!” Khellendros roared, the words causing the mountain to shudder violently. “I am Khellendros, The Storm Over Krynn! Khellendros, The Portal Master! Khellendros, once called Skie by Kitiara!”

The great blue dragon gestured toward the rocky formations that ringed that plateau. The glow that radiated from him stretched out to bathe the stones. The rocks absorbed the light and began to resonate, their loud hum filling the sky.

Overhead, where black, green, blue, and silver, gold, brass, copper, and bronze dragons clashed, the hum could be heard, too. The dragons paused in their aerial battle. The Knights of Solamnia atop their silvers peered down, eyes straining to see what was happening.

Khellendros drew the last of the magical energy from the treasure at his feet and from Fissure. Weakened so he could no longer stand, Fissure fell.

Then Khellendros’s mind reached out to the stones, calling for access to The Gray. The megalith glowed, the smoky air between the twin pillars of rock sparkled, and then it parted. Stars shone through. Stars and wisps of gray.

“Home,” The huldrefolk whispered. He tried crawling toward the megalith, but Gale’s claw held him in place. “The Gray.”

The stones hummed louder, as Palin and the others covered their ears.

“Palin Majere!” Khellendros called. “I give you your life and the lives of your friends this day. The dragons here will not harm you, on my word. Neither will the armies below. You are free to go. But this day only!” His voice trailed off. “Leave now!” the dragon continued. “When next we meet, Palin Majere, I will not be so generous.”

His legs bunched and he leapt, rocking the mountain and tossing Palin and the others to their knees.

Khellendros flew toward the megalith. One vast claw reached out for a blue female dragon—Khellendros’s chosen vessel for Kitiara’s spirit. The blue female instinctively shrank back, and for a moment Khellendros wavered in his flight. As he did so, the surface of The Gray seemed to ripple and pulse. Tendrils of mist reached out and encircled the blue dragon. They stroked and embraced his great body, seeming to lift it toward the darkened canopy of the sky.

“Kitiara,” cried Khellendros, “at last I come to you!”

The portal’s surface shivered and Palin, staring at it, thought he beheld, for a single, eternal instant, a dark face of enormous, heart-wrenching beauty. Then the body of the blue seemed to elongate impossibly, stretching out between the stones. A thunderclap shattered the mountain-tops, and in the distance, unnoticed now by anyone, the shadow dragon lifted his wings and sailed silently into a cloud.

Khellendros was gone.

“Kitiara!” the wind whispered.

Beryllinthranox stepped away from the half-ogre, gesturing toward the side of the mountain. Onysablet did the same, then nudged Rig and his fellows with her snakelike tail. “Leave,” the dragon overlords hissed.

Rig picked up Veylona, as Goldmoon cradled Jasper’s body in her arms, the scepter resting atop his blistered, bloody chest.

Fiona took the kender’s hand and led her toward Palin and Usha, who had started down the mountain.

Feril stood with Dhamon, looking up at the sky. She leaned into him, her hand closing into his, drawing him toward the edge of the plateau. He mutely followed her, eyes incredulously staring at Goldmoon’s back.

The group walked unmolested past the lesser dragons at the base of the mountain. In silence, the rows of Knights of Takhisis parted, allowing them safe passage, as did the goblins, hobgoblins, ogres, draconians, and barbarians.

They didn’t stop until they were well beyond the armies and until the sun was rising in a cloudless sky. Ulin, Sunrise, Gilthanas, and Silvara were there waiting for them. They all showed surprise at seeing Goldmoon, and sadness at the sight of Jasper. Their glances spoke volumes, though not one word was uttered. There would be time for words and tears later.