The Eve of the Maelstrom

7 Lofty Plans

The dead lay all around them, butchered by sword, trampled by dragon claw, slain by strokes of Khellendros’s lightning breath. They were all unrecognizable: faceless husks among shattered pieces of armor.

Their deaths spoke volumes—of the bravery of the fallen. But to the great blue dragon the carnage was one more fine trophy. The acrid smell that rose from the bloodied ground was sweet.

The invasions of Tarsis, Kharolis, and the Plains of Ash to the south were grand. The conquests mounted, each more cherished than the one before. There were numerous victories in Hinterlund and Gaardlund, and Solamnia had been invaded. All for Kitiara, the human woman with a dragon’s heart.

As he lay on Malys’s plateau, The Storm Over Krynn could envision Kitiara plainly. The massive red overlord sat nearby, her eyes fixed on a volcano in front of her, as she repeated softly, “Dhamon, you must never drop the glaive.” Preoccupied with something, she had left Khellendros to his own thoughts.

Kitiara stood before Khellendros in his mind, wearing the blue armor that complemented his indigo scales. More dear than a daughter, he thought. More treasured. Soon she will be rescued and reborn. Soon they would be together, and there would be no more squandered time with Malystryx the Red.

Malys had adopted Khellendros as a companion of sorts, treating him not quite like a servant, as she had begun to treat the other overlords, and more like a lesser partner. But The Storm Over Krynn knew others occasionally shared Malystryx’s dark affections. He was certain the white, Gellidus, had played consort to her. But he kept silent on this matter and on many others, listening with mild curiosity as the Red directed a human pawn, Dhamon—he’d heard Gale mention that name—to follow the orders of someone named Commander Jalan and not to discard a glaive.

The blue overlord had given little thought to Malys’s schemes, or to her relationship to the other overlords and the Knights of Takhisis. His own alliance with the Red was one of convenience to keep himself above her suspicions. It was not against dragon nature to feign cooperation as he was doing.

However, in ages past Khellendros had defied dragon nature. He had been true to only one other dragon, a calculating blue named Nadir.

Nadir died during the Third Dragon War, but not before she had laid a clutch of eggs. Several of the eggs survived the Cataclysm, growing into Khellendros’s proud brood in the wastes of western Khur. Malystryx’s plateau was in Goodlund, and he was not so terribly far from Khur now.

One daughter distinguished herself in her zest for battle, joined Khellendros in service to the Dark Queen. Khellendros’s daughter, called Zephyr by men, was ambitious, but her father thought she lacked the military mindset needed to survive. So The Storm manipulated the pairing of partners in the Blue Dragonarmy and caused his daughter to be partnered with a young human woman rising in the ranks. Kitiara uth Matar. It went against custom, as dragons were usually paired with humans of the opposite gender, but then Khellendros had been reputed to go against tradition.

Khellendros’s choice of Kitiara was wise. Zephyr learned much from the human. She ascended to become first lieutenant to Skie and his partner, who was a cunning she-warrior named Kartilann of Khur. Together, the foursome could not be bested, leading strike after victorious strike above the battlefields.

Until a long time ago, during the battle on Schallsea.

Schallsea Island, Khellendros mused, was the place of ultimate sadness and destined revenge, where he had recently bested Palin Majere and stolen the precious artifacts. Where dreams died and dreams began.

“Do not discard the glaive,” The Storm Over Krynn heard Malys repeat. He ignored her presence; her words were not meant for him anyway. Instead he focused on his memories of the island.

It was decades past. Khellendros and Kartilann led a sweep of the island. There was no reason to fear the inferior enemy, no reason to suspect disaster. But a sniper’s arrow slew Kartilann, and shortly thereafter Zephyr, too, was killed. In the midst of Khellendros’s sadness, another breach of tradition occurred. In the Dark Queen’s Dragonarmies whenever a partner was killed, dragon or human, the surviving partner was ordinarily dishonored. And to be dishonored in the eyes of Takhisis was something Khellendros could not, would not, abide. He shrewdly made a pact with Kitiara, quickly re-teaming with her—in part to honor Zephyr, in part to save face before the Dark Queen.

Their partnership, born from dragon and human death, from two dissolutions, was a stroke of creative genius. So perfectly suited to each other were Khellendros and Kitiara that at first they appeared omnipotent. Together they carried the Blue Dragonarmy to one conquest after another—Tarsis, Kharolis, the Plains of Ash, and more.

Blue Lady, Kitiara was called. Highlord.

The humans called Khellendros Skie. An inadequate name, one lacking any hint of power, and one he had grown to despise—except when it rolled off Kitiara’s tongue.

The Blue Lady stood before him now in his dream vision, her form perfectly imagined in the steamy air that rose off the baked earth of Malystryx’s peak. Like a mirage, the vision beckoned soothingly to his spirit. Soon he would bring Kitiara back to Krynn and keep his promise to her. Soon he would not need to acquiesce so completely to the red overlord’s commands. He would have Kitiara, more dear than a daughter....

“Khellendros?” The word sounded like an earth tremor.

He let the image of Kitiara fade and stared into the smouldering eyes of the Red. “Yes, Malystryx. Your plan has merit. Uniting the dragons under a new Takhisis will forge a new epoch.” A part of him had been listening.

“The Age of Dragons,” Malys purred. “No more will this be called the Age of Mortals.”

Khellendros nodded. “This ascension of yours...”

“Will require exceptional magic,” she finished. “A grand artifact is even now making its way to us, carried by a lowly human pawn. He will be escorted by other humans to afford more protection to the item. Commander Jalan leads the Knights of Takhisis. My knights.”

“And will other magic be necessary?”

“Onysablet, Gellidus, even Beryllinthranox will search and provide their greatest magical treasures. As must you. Gather the magic for me: ancient artifacts filled with raw, arcane power.”

“Of course.”

“I will need the energies stored in all these things to aid in my transformation.” Her eyes glimmered darkly, and flames lapped the corners of her vast mouth. “We will unleash the magic when enough artifacts are gathered and when the time is right. We will unleash it in Khur.”

The place where Nadir had laid her clutch, Khellendros reflected, where he and Kitiara once fought side by side.

“I will be reborn.”

The blue overlord nodded.

“Near the Window to the Stars.”

Khellendros knew the location. In ancient times, it had served as a portal to the Gray, where in ages past he might have perhaps more easily found Kitiara. It was a human place.

“When I am Takhisis, I will completely dominate the humans. I will crush them. There will be no more pockets of resistance. None will dare to defy us. And none will be able to hide. Not even the greatest of creatures who still—”

“Like the shadow dragon who so troubles you?”

A rumble started deep in Malystryx’s belly. “The rogue defies me. He continues to slay lesser dragons and to draw strength from their carcasses.”

“As we all did during the Dragon Purge. You set the example for us. You showed us the way.”

“But I called an end to the purge.”

“And he did not obey.”

“I will find him,” Malystryx said, her tone as matter-of-fact as possible. “Now or when I become the new Takhisis, I will find him and purge him. His energies will be mine.”

“And the good dragons?”

“They will join me. The silvers and bronzes, the coppers and brasses—even the golds. They will join me.”

“Most will die, I think, Malys.”

“Not all of them.” The Red breathed deep and exhaled slowly, watched the twin curls of smoke drift up from her nostrils. “Life will be more precious to some than death, even life under my rule. I have been busy planning and I have identified those who can be swayed. You see, I have been busy. And you, Khellendros? What has been occupying you in the Northern Wastes?”

“I have been controlling the land. I have built my army.”

“Gathering followers?” she asked dryly. “You have only one who shows any real promise.”

“Gale.”

“A blind dragon?” The Red’s tone was laced with scorn.

“He is capable.”

“Capable of ruling the Northern Wastes?”

Khellendros’s golden eyes narrowed slightly.

“Is he capable of controlling Palanthas and of shepherding the Knights of Takhisis or guiding legions of brutes? Is he capable of creating all the necessary spawn? Of dominating all the insignificant tribes of barbarians that litter your great white desert and pester your blue dragon servants?”

“Do you intend to replace me with him, give him my territory?”

A hint of a smile played upon the red overlord’s mouth. “Of course,” she said silkily. “As Ferno will eventually replace me as overlord of this land.”

She rose to sit on her haunches and towered above him, her head as high as the tops of the volcanoes that ringed her plateau. “But I will need no designated territory, for all of Ansalon will be mine. And as Dark Queen, I will need a king.” She dropped her gaze to meet his. “Rule by my side. Only your intellect and ambitions are great enough to complement mine.”

Khellendros raised his head slightly, keeping it judiciously well below her gaze. “I am honored, my Queen. And I accept. I will relinquish my land to Gale when the time is right.”

“The time will be soon. Ferno comes to me now. I will tell him of our agreement. He will inherit my domain. Then you and I will possess Krynn.”

The shadow dragon glided on the updrafts birthed by the mountains of Blöde. The morning sun shone bright upon his back. His snout was long and thick, filled with faceted teeth that resembled sharp bits of smoky quartz. His eyes were fog-gray with black pupils. Twin fog-gray horns swept up and back from his head. Smaller horns, looking like jagged onyx, ran from the bridge of his nose to the top of his head, edging his jowls. The undersides of his wings were the darkest parts, dark as midnight, black as a corrupt spirit.

Onysablet, too, was black. Yet the shadow dragon was, strictly speaking, not a black dragon. His scales were shadowy, but somehow translucent, the color in them shifting with light and darkness. He usually hunted at twilight, when the world’s shadows were the thickest. It was his favorite time, although sometimes he hunted very late at night, when he blended in with the ebony sky, invisible to all but the most discerning. That he found himself hunting this sunny morning disturbed him a little. He was out of his element, but his quarry was about. And that necessitated this unaccustomed foray.

He dropped lower and craned his long inky neck so he could better inspect the ground and peer into the jagged outcroppings and foothills. An ogre village was nestled between two peaks. Smoke twisted up from ruined huts, scenting the air with scorched wood and charred bodies. Ogre bodies. The dragon had no love of ogres, but he did not hate them either. He had killed enough of them in his life. But he also tolerated them at times, as he tolerated a great many things in this land. However, this day at least the sloppy despoilers who did not consume or bury the dead after their deeds were done bothered him.

The Knights of Takhisis, the despoilers, his quarry, were not terribly far away, he sensed, less than a day’s march, just beyond the mountains. He banked to the southwest, noting more bodies as he went. Scores of crows feasted, fleeing as his shadow moved over them. The miles slipped by beneath his wings. The hours passed. And then something else caught his attention.

Below him, a mile or so away, was a red dragon. Flying northeast, the red was large, perhaps two hundred feet from nose to tail, its horns curving up as its talons curved down.

The shadow dragon banked higher and watched the red for a few moments, gauging its age, guessing its strength. Red dragons, the shadow dragon knew, were among the most formidable.

The shadow dragon studied the land below him, looking for mountains that might cast just enough shadows to conceal him so he would not have to fight the red. Looking... there. He folded his wings into his sides and dropped toward a nearby summit.

As he dove, he watched the red dragon continue on its course. He saw the dragon slow and glance his way, and he wondered if the dragon would ignore him, since he was certain it had spotted him.

Ferno was headed toward Goodlund, summoned by Malystryx. The red dragon lieutenant knew not to tarry in Blöde, but he also knew that to bring his queen this trophy would raise him in her esteem. She hated the shadow dragon, and though there were rumored to be a few of these creatures on Ansalon, only one would be so bold as to fly during daylight hours. It must be the rogue that so vexed his mistress. Malystryx would reward him greatly.

Ferno beat his wings faster and banked to the east, opening his jaws wide. He coaxed the heat as it mounted in his stomach, as though stoking a furnace. The closer he flew to the shadow dragon, the more he anticipated the red overlord’s gratitude.

From his inadequate hiding place, the shadow dragon glanced one last time at the approaching enemy. Too late to find better shadows. Not now, not that the red had made its decision. The shadow dragon angled to face the red, beating his wings slowly as he rose, focused his strength, concentrated his energies.

Flames burst from Ferno’s mouth, a crackling ball of fire that raced to engulf the shadow dragon. Translucent black scales sizzled and popped, the heat and flames threatening to overwhelm the shadow dragon.

The shadow dragon beat his wings harder, faster, taking him above the flames and the furnace-hot air. The red dragon stretched out his claws and drove them deep into the blackness of the shadow dragon’s chest, sending a shower of scales into the air.

The shadow dragon howled, inhaled deeply, and let loose with his own breath weapon, a cloud of darkness that expanded to envelop the red. Dark as ink, the cloud folded in upon itself, coating the red and sapping its strength.

“How dare you!” Ferno hissed. The red dragon flailed, flapping to keep aloft, and struck out again with its claws. “Malystryx will reward me well for slaying you!”

But the shadow dragon had slipped above its grasp, hovering now over the red and the blackness. His adversary was temporarily blinded. He listened to the red’s taunts, watching and waiting. Then he breathed a second cloud of darkness, even as the first was dissipating, and then dove into the blackness that surrounded the red, his own talons outstretched. His eyes pierced the darkness as easily as others saw in light. His talons sliced at the red’s wings, ripping through them and filling the air with hot dragon blood.

“For this affront you will die painfully!” Ferno bellowed. Although virtually sightless, the red dragon was hardly powerless. He twisted his head back over his shoulder, and his furnace breath rushed out to set the air on fire.

Translucent black scales melted under the intense heat, and wave after wave of hot pain pulsed through the shadow dragon’s body. Another blast of fire surrounded him. The shadow dragon only dug his claws deeper into the red’s back, bringing his suffering head down closer to the red’s neck. Smoky quartz teeth sunk in, parting red scales and discovering the flesh beneath. The shadow dragon clamped his teeth down, dug his claws into the red’s sides, then released his prey, pushing off his back and flying away to escape the heat and pain.

The red cursed and flapped his wings madly. At last he broke free from the cloud of blackness that had continued to sap his strength. “Malystryx!” he cried. “Hear me, Malystryx!” Still blind, he fought to focus his other senses.

The shadow dragon glided above him, silent, scentless, regaining his strength and absorbing the strength lost by the red. He followed the red, noting that its wounds were not fatal.

“Curse you, blackness!” the red bellowed. “Where are you? Fight me!”

Above, still silent, the shadow dragon opened his maw, summoned the last of his energy, and released yet another cloud of blackness.

“Malystryx!” Once more Ferno felt engulfed by blackness. It was like a cool, wet blanket. It smothered his flames, sapping his energy and his willpower. “Malystryx!”

“Your overlord is too far away to save you.” The shadow dragon spoke at last, his voice raspy. He was weak, burned horribly, and no doubt permanently scarred. He considered fleeing while the red was still dazed. In the shadows he might heal. The red would let him go now, he was certain.

“I need no one to save me!” the red retorted. Ferno had listened closely to the shadow dragon’s words and could pinpoint where his opponent was. The red inhaled deeply, twisted his head, and breathed another blast of fire.

The shadow dragon had dove just as the red’s jaws opened. He twisted onto the red’s back even as the crackling flames passed over his head. Scalded, he fought to master the moment and keep his hold on the red. His claws dug in, as his jaws found the red’s neck again. Hot blood flowed over his quartz teeth and rained down on the mountains below.

Ferno’s last fire breath had sapped his waning strength. Now he could barely keep himself aloft, especially with the weight of the shadow dragon riding him. “Malystryx.” The word sounded like steam escaping, so little strength was behind it. “Malystryx, help me.” It sounded like a prayer.

Black claws dug deeper, smoky teeth tore at flesh. And the shadow dragon felt a rush of energy as he began to absorb the red’s life essence.

Malystryx watched the sky, studying Khellendros’s retreating form. The blue dragon, dismissed so she could tend to other matters, was returning to the Northern Wastes. He would inform Gale, his lieutenant, of the red overlord’s plan.

At the back of Malystryx’s mind, she heard a muted voice of some significance. “Ferno,” she said. She closed her blood red lids, slipped her senses to the back of her mind, and wrapped her thoughts around the whisperer. She willed herself to find her red lieutenant.

Dhamon Grimwulf stepped toward the defenseless Solamnic spy, raised the glaive to finish him, then felt the pressure of the red overlord lessen. She retreated just a bit further, and he was able to stay his hand.

Behind him, in the large makeshift building, Commander Jalan moved closer. “The Solamnic...” she began. “Finish him—or if you are incapable—I will be obliged to do it for you.

“Malystryx!” Ferno called in desperation.

The shadow dragon would not relent.

His strength lost, his wings unable to support his weight, Ferno plummeted down, the shadow dragon riding him while continuing the wild assault that was purging the red’s energy.

Ferno felt the warmth of his own blood on his neck and back. His claws flailed uselessly. He felt his wings tossed by the wind. Then, blessedly, he felt the shadow dragon’s claws pull away and the vicious jaws unclench. Ferno felt the dragon shove off his back and was glad to be free of the weight.

With a shock, he realized how close he must be to the ground. Still he saw only blackness. But he sensed the earth, now close below him, and he made one last strenuous effort to work his wings.

Too late. Ferno sensed Malystryx’s mind caress his. Then he felt a spear of rock thrust into his belly, impaling him on a mountaintop. Then he felt nothing.

The shadow dragon hovered on the updrafts for several heartbeats, looking at the streams of red that poured from the dead dragon. Then he descended to absorb the last of the red’s power.

“Ferno!” Malystryx’s cry echoed off the volcanoes that ringed her peak. The thunderous word rocked the plateau. As if in reply, the cones glowed red and sent gouts of sulfurous smoke into the air. Streams of lava ran down the volcanoes’ sides. Ribbons of red and orange, they glittered brightly in the morning sun.

“Ferno!” The great red overlord was enraged. Shared plans were lost. Schemes half-hatched between the two were now dashed and broken.

But more than the loss of her lieutenant, she was angered at the disrespect shown by her by the shadow dragon. The Dragon Purge had ended by her command. No more were dragons to draw power from the luckless spirits of those they defeated. Never again!

Ferno could be replaced—would be replaced—within the next few weeks. But the shadow dragon...

A rumble started deep inside her, growing until the noise filled her plateau. Fire streamed from her mouth, touching the bases of the volcanoes, and her anger deepened.

Stronger from the red’s absorbed energies, the shadow dragon resumed his course. As the minutes passed, the mountains seemed to shrink, and in the distance he spied the verdant greenery of Onysablet’s swamp. And there, practically between the mountains and the foothills, where the steamy mists of the jungle lay thick, a jagged fang jutted defiantly into the sky. It was ringed by lean-tos and crude huts—ant hills crawling with life.

The despoilers milled about, unsuspecting. Dressed in black plate mail despite the heat, the Knights of Takhisis gathered outside a large building. The clang of metal, evidence of an ongoing fight, cut through the air. Men and women stood behind the knights, curious about what was transpiring inside the building, wanting to catch a glimpse of the combatants. A dwarf and a kender, kneeled and peered through the armored men’s legs.

Too close. Their fault. Could not be helped.

The dragon drew his wings to his sides and dove, creating a shadow on the ground that grew as he neared.

“You heard me, Grimwulf! Finish him!” came an imperious voice from inside the building. The shadow dragon’s senses picked up that lone voice with a commanding air. No others spoke when this voice sounded. “Finish him!”

The shadow dragon opened his mouth, releasing a cloud of blackness on the black dressed knights below. The cloud descended on them, smothered them, as it smothered the innocent bystanders, robbing them of sight and energy.

Screams filled the air, shouts of shock, terror, disbelief. The shadow dragon watched as knights and commoners alike scurried blindly away from the cold blanket of suffocating air he created. They crashed into each other and ran into their crude homes. A few stumbled headlong into Onysablet’s swamp. Foolish ants.

The dragon dropped closer, picking out his armor-clad targets. His claws sought out the knights one by one.

Inside the building, Commander Jalan heard the first screams and wheeled around to glimpse the impenetrable blackness as it fell beyond the doorway. She drew back, pulled her sword, and called to her closest men.

Behind her, Dhamon Grimwulf felt the weight of the burning glaive in his hands. The ever-present red dragon in his mind faded, and he stared at the man before him. “Run!” he cried. The Solamnic spy cradled his stump, acting dazed. “Run!”

The spy paused for only a moment more. Then, meeting Dhamon’s wide-eyed stare, he staggered toward the back of the building. Boards had been hastily peeled back to create an exit. Sunlight streamed through the opening. He took a last look over his shoulder at Dhamon, then stepped through.

Dhamon breathed a sigh of relief. Behind him Commander Jalan cursed. Dhamon searched his mind for the dragon and found no trace. He took a tentative step toward the back of the building.

Still there was no countercommand from the dragon. A trick? Dhamon wondered. One more trick of the dragon’s to let him think he was free? Salvation was beyond him, he realized, now that he had drawn Solamnic blood. He was eternally damned. But where was the dragon presence? He took another awkward step. Was this one more game the dragon would end by pulling his puppet strings?

Dhamon considered dropping the glaive and running. Maybe the dragon intended Commander Jalan to take it now. The screams outside made him grit his teeth, and then he saw the Commander square her shoulders and step into that ominous blackness.

Dhamon Grimwulf shouldered the weapon and quietly slipped to the back, ducking through the opening and stepping into the light.

Foothills stretched to the east, and nearby he saw a pass through the mountains. Not the pass, he decided; it would be too easy for someone to follow him. He glanced about for signs of the villagers or Solamnic sympathizers. There was blood on the ground, a trail. Dhamon ignored it, darting instead toward the foothills. Clambering up moss-covered rocks, he took a last glance at the village, seeing the cloud of darkness. He glimpsed what looked like a long black tail flicking out of it and heard the horrible screams and the clang of metal. The Knights of Takhisis were battling something inside the darkness. The cloud looked too small to cover Onysablet. Perhaps it draped one of her minions.

He struggled up the rough terrain of the Blöde foothills and made his way toward the mountains. The dragon voice was gone.

The shadow dragon had had its fill. It had slain all but one Knight of Takhisis. Only Commander Jalan remained. The dragon knew only that she was an important leader, given the decorations on her armor. She must also have rare courage to confront him.

The commander walked forward, blinded by the cloud, stumbling over the few bodies the dragon had not yet swallowed. She waved her sword before her, slowly, searching for her unseen foe.

The shadow dragon studied her determined face for but a moment. Then it flapped its wings to soar above the cloud of blackness. The cloud would dissipate within a few heartbeats, though the woman would remain blind for longer than that. He would leave her be, the lone survivor, to tell her red dragon mistress of the triumphant assault. Survivors were necessary; otherwise there would be no accounts of his great deeds.

The dragon banked away from the village, coasting over the foothills of Blöde, heading toward the mountains. He watched for shadows, eventually finding one to his liking that was halfway up a peak. Gliding toward it, he discovered the narrow mouth of a cave, whose interior shadows were thick and pleasing. His dark form shimmered, shrinking just enough to let him pass beyond the opening and into the welcome embrace of the shadows beyond. Time to rest, he decided, to savor his successes and make his plans. He closed his dark eyes.

Hours later, he opened them. Within the cave resounded the footfalls of an intruder.