Dragons of a New Age

6 The Coming of Malystryx

The warrior stood on a peak overlooking Palanthas and watched Khellendros bank away from the city. He was drenched by the blue dragon’s storm.

“I thought he was the one. Pity.”

The warrior looked vaguely like a man, but he was solid black and featureless, as if cut from a piece of wet slate or obsidian. His glowing, ruby eyes followed the retreating form of the dragon until it was a speck on the horizon. Then he peered down through the sheets of rain at the black puddle that was once the Tower of High Sorcery.

“The blue was too soft,” he growled. “When he did not get what he wanted, he should have destroyed the city. He had the power and the right to seek revenge.”

The warrior balled his black fists, which for an instant glowed orange like hot coals. “There was no one in Palanthas who could have challenged him. Only the sorcerer, and he spent all his energy destroying the tower. They are all such silly, pathetic fools.”

A large crowd milled about on the street, humans primarily, though the warrior could pick out a handful of elves and several kender in the bunch. They were commoners for the most part, clad in simple tunics and leggings of brown and gray. Their clothes and their expressions were haggard and worn.

Curiosity helped a few of them brave the potential danger and slowly approach the area where the Tower of High Sorcery had stood several minutes ago. Finally, a pair of eager kender rushed forward and when the two got close enough to look down into the reflection of the hard obsidian surface, they saw a reflection of the tower locked inside. All remained still, but their fellows held back for a brief moment, waiting to see what might happen.

When it was clear that nothing more would occur, the warrior began to watch another pair of overly-curious kender as they searched the area that was once the Shoikan Grove. The warrior suspected the others in the crowd had heard the tales of the creatures lurking in the tower’s surroundings and decided to stay away. The kender weren’t so easily cowed.

After glancing behind himself, the warrior returned his attention to the kender in the decimated grove. He couldn’t see them, though he noticed twin wisps of orange smoke twisting upward from the spot where they had stood before.

“Fools,” he whispered again. “They don’t know what they trifle with.”

As more townsfolk gathered excitedly, the level of noise grew. The warrior could hear only some of what they said.

“It was magic that destroyed the tower,” a tired-looking man proclaimed suddenly. “Earthquakes aren’t so selective that they only swallow one building.”

“There were probably sorcerers in the tower,” another interjected. “They experimented with something they shouldn’t have. I saw one running from the place. Dressed all in black, like a piece of coal, he was. He told me to flee.”

“I think it was the gods.” The new speaker was a butcher. He wiped his hands on his bloodied apron and shook his head. “The gods were angry at the sorcerers.”

“The gods are gone, and so’s magic,” an old woman sighed. “And I think neither will ever be back. But I bet what little magic might have been hanging on in that tower caused the quake.”

“Did you see the dragon?” asked a kender who tugged on her skirt.

The old woman said nothing.

A haggard-looking young man answered. “I saw the dragon. It was a great blue one. Never saw anything so big.”

“He could have killed us,” the kender uttered with a hint of awe.

“He should have killed you,” the warrior whispered. “All of you. Chaos wanted you dead.”

The warrior was birthed during the recent war in the Abyss. In the heat of the struggle, Chaos, father of the gods, called a star down from the heavens and demolished it with but an impulse. From the flaming fragments of rock that resulted, the deity shaped the watcher and his evil brethren, worked them into magical, manlike images in much the same way a sculptor would create a series of statues. Chaos breathed life into his creations by tugging memories from the knights who swarmed about him, drawing out their worst nightmares and using them to inspire his daemon warriors, to start their dark hearts beating. The evil constructs fought in Chaos’s defense and by his command.

Most of them died in the battle. The daemon warrior overlooking Palanthas saw most of his brethren perish and fail. He had been spared when the mortals won. And he and a handful of others like him felt their creator pull away from them, abandon them. Without orders, and without Chaos to guide them, the surviving daemon warriors left the Abyss and found their way to Ansalon. They were forced to find a new reason to keep living.

This one was obsessed with revenge. He vowed to make the humans pay for chasing away the all-father. The warrior shifted his shape to a conical, swirling mass and grew foggy claws and a snakelike tail that whipped about. Chaos had gifted his warriors with the ability to alter their bodies, to ride the winds, and to move through water or the earth as effortlessly as the mortals walked upon the ground.

“Everyone should be dead, moldering in their pathetic graves,” the warrior hissed. “They should be food for the worms.”

The daemon warrior knew the people of Palanthas were already starting to rebound from the war. The people were mourning the many heroes who died in the battle against Chaos, crying over the pitiful Knights of Solamnia and Knights of Takhisis who fought side by side. The bodies that had been recovered were buried. Those forever lost beneath the carcasses of the dead dragons and the collapsed caverns of the Abyss were honored with markers and kind words.

No one mourned for Chaos and his lost shapeshifting children. No one mourned except his brethren. The daemon warrior’s piercing red eyes turned toward the expansive Palanthas harbor. A soft breeze sent ripples across the bay. The setting sun coated the water with a fiery orange glow that reminded the creature of smoldering embers, of the bits of the broken star that had birthed it. Some of the docks had been damaged by the backlash of energy from the Abyss, and he could see teams of men laboring to replace them.

“The blue could have destroyed the harbor,” the daemon warrior ranted. “But the blue is too weak and fosters a spark of respect for these ants. Fortunately, I sense another who is not so weak, who has no attachments. She will bring her raging fire to this world. And I will help to kindle it.”

Thousands of miles from Palanthas, a young black dragon stalked deer on the rain-soaked plain of Misty Isle.

He paused in his hunt when the sky grew dark. An enormous red dragon, one larger than any he had seen before, was blotting out the sunset. With scales colored a deep crimson, she hovered in the sky and returned the black’s stare. The dragon’s wings were stretched out to her sides, billowed like the sails of a schooner. The black had to turn his head from side to side just to take in all of her.

Her glistening ivory horns rose tall and curved gently from atop her massive ridged head. Her amber eyes were unblinking orbs that held him mesmerized. Steam curled upward from her cavernous nostrils. The hunt forgotten, the black dragon rose on his hind legs.

She is as large as Takhisis was, perhaps even larger, he thought. Only a god could be so huge. His heart leapt with that thought. Perhaps the red is Takhisis—the Dark Queen of the evil dragons—returned to Krynn to lead her children!

His mind had touched hers once, many months ago, when she was summoning her children for the battle in the Abyss. The black had begged to be chosen to be among those dragons who would fight for their Dark Queen. But Takhisis had passed him over, saying he was too small and would not be able to contribute. The black had not felt her presence since, nor had he seen many other dragons. The black so badly wanted to know about everything that had transpired in the Abyss. Perhaps Takhisis would tell him now.

He breathed a stream of acid into the air in tribute, and the great red glided forward. The luminous rays of the dying sun touched her scales and made them glimmer like flickering flames, made her look as if she were a bonfire brought to life.

He reverently bowed his head as she landed. The ground trembled from her weight, and the black squinted as mud showered all about him, thrown everywhere by the draft from her wings.

A gout of flame arced through the sky above him, fanning out to touch the forests on both sides of the plain. The searing heat of the red’s dragonbreath was intense and painful, and he heard the snap and crackle of the trees around him that had caught fire despite the dampness of the Misty Isle. The black looked up and opened his mouth to speak and saw a red claw stretching out toward him.

The claw struck him hard, sending him flying several yards toward the old forest. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Dazed, he shook his head to clear his senses and stared at her.

The red dragon’s massive claw raked his side. The talons slashed through his thick dark scales and dug into the softer flesh beneath. Then another claw pinned him to the ground and threatened to pierce his ribs.

“Takhisis, my queen!”

The black dragon’s blood flowed from the wound. He cried in surprise and pain, struggling futilely beneath the weight. Through a haze of tears he looked up, his eyes locking onto hers, pleading with her, questioning.

Her immense head filled his vision as it bore down on him. And the smell of her breath was hot and sulphurous like the fire that was now raging in the forest.

She opened her mouth, and her enormous tongue snaked out to touch the tip of his nose, then retreated to lick her lips.

“No!” the black screamed. “Takhisis would not slay one of her own!” He summoned all his strength and fought to budge the claw that held him to the ground. But the black couldn’t move, the red was too massive.

“Please!” he cried as he gasped for air. “Please!” he called again, surprised to hear such a human word escape his jaws, but desperate to make himself heard.

The black’s heart beat frantically in his chest and his back legs jerked spasmodically. He tried desperately to find purchase in the mud, something his claws could grasp to serve as an anchor and keep him away from her. He swiveled his head about, and breathed a stream of his acid. The acid splashed against the side of the red dragon’s head and made a sickening popping noise. Her jaws relaxed their grip, and the black launched himself away.

He was stopped by a paw that slammed down on his tail. Another slammed against his rump, then he felt sharp teeth close over the ridge on his back. He felt himself being lifted. The red carried him toward the beach and threw him down harshly. Laying in a heap, the black had little energy left. He labored to rise, and almost succeeded, but the red’s lengthy tailed whipped about and struck him soundly across the snout, stunning him.

He concentrated, hoping to summon one final stream of acid—something, anything that might drive her off so he could rise above the cliff and escape into the trees. He was so much smaller than she, perhaps he could hide among the ancient willows. He opened his maw, breathed, but only a rivulet of acid rose from his throat. It sloshed onto the sand. The red’s jaws loomed closer, sank deep into the black’s throat, and she began to feast.

The dawning sun found the shore of the Misty Isle. None of the verdant forests remained—only charred, broken remains that stretched upward at twisted, odd angles. The red had destroyed everything.

Yawning, the great dragon rose from the beach, stretched, and shook off her sleep. Last night’s meal of the big black lizard gave her some energy and she had feasted on a herd of deer, though they had been so small.

But she was still ravenous—and disturbed. Had she imagined the black lizard talking to her? Calling her... what was the word... Takhisis? Had she dreamed the words? Or had the lizard really spoken? In a fit of privation had she dined on a sentient reptile?

She glanced at the tide pool where she had left the lizard’s head and a few of its rib bones. The carcass looked different in the morning light. She was able to make out more of the subtleties. The great red shuddered. It wasn’t the head of a large black lizard that lay at a grotesque angle against the slope. It was the head of a black dragon.

How could her hunger have blinded her so, made her devour a baby, a hatchling? Padding to the water’s edge, she glanced at her own scowling visage. She noted that a few of the scales near her jaw were melted and distorted from the baby black’s acid breath.

She reached a claw up and dug the blemished scales loose. They fell on the sand with dull thuds. She grimaced. Others would grow to take their place, and she would be beautiful again, but it would take a few weeks.

At least it was a black, an inferior dragon, she told herself, trying to mollify her conscience somewhat. Blacks aren’t as smart as reds. If it had been smart, it wouldn’t have waited for her on the plain.

What had it meant when it called her Takhisis? What did the word mean?

By the time the sun had reached its zenith, the red dragon was high in the sky, the ruins of Misty Isle far below her. The island seemed small, like the black dragon had been small.

Maybe she should go back home. She didn’t care for the brutish company of the other reds, but perhaps she would try to put up with them again. She could force herself. One more try. She hated this sensation of hunger. Raising a wing, she banked toward home.

“You cannot leave.”

The red’s eyes focused on the swirling gray image of a tiny man that hovered in the air before her. She drew her wings back and squinted so she could see him better. He looked like a shadow, which shouldn’t be possible given the brightness of the morning sun. His eyes were unblinking crimson dots. Not a man, she decided. But what?

The red hissed. Steam rose from her nostrils, the wispy tendrils curling like chimney smoke and drifting toward the clouds overhead. Her lips twisted upward and she snarled. She could eat him, but he was so small her belly would scarcely acknowledge the offering. It would hardly be worth the effort of swallowing.

“What are you?” she growled.

“I am a daemon warrior, a creation of the all-father Chaos,” the shadow man answered. “I will have my revenge against the mortals who caused my father to leave Krynn. And you will be my means of achieving it.” The shadowy image grew horns and darkened itself to a glossy black shade.

The creature should be begging for mercy, the red thought. Instead he was shifting his form and chatting with her as if she were his friend. She had no friends.

“Where are you from?” The warrior’s voice was gravelly and at the same time hollow, like an echo. “You are not from Ansalon, and you have not been here long. Someone would have noticed a dragon your size before. Heroes would have been dispatched to slay you. Are there more like you?”

The red narrowed her eyes to thin slits and glowered at him. A lick of flame flickered out between her pointed teeth. “My homeland is none of your concern,” the dragon finally answered.

“But where you are going is. You must go toward Ansalon, not away from it. You must kill them all, but not all at once. They must be made to fear for their lives, realize they are all doomed. They must wait inexorably for the end.”

“They?”

“The people,” the shadow man replied. “The humans and elves. The dwarves, gnomes, kender.”

“Enough!” A growl sounded from deep in the dragon’s chest. She opened her mouth and fire raced out of it, cutting through the crisp morning air and forming a great ball of searing flame. The fire rushed toward him, roaring and crackling, then it parted just inches before reaching him. It flowed like water around him and joined again behind his back.

“I am a creature of fire, sired in the Abyss. Flames cannot touch me, no matter how intense.” The daemon warrior displayed glowing eyes like hot coals. “Now listen to me. Down there is the Misty Isle, the island you slept on last night and treated as so much kindling. To the north is Kothas, perched on the edge of the Blood Sea of Istar.”

The dragon glared at him, a hint of curiosity creeping across her huge visage. She decided to listen to him just a little bit longer.

“Kothas is not so important as the rest of the world,” the daemon warrior continued. “Neither are Mithas and Karthay. But the Dairly Plains...” The glow of the shadow man’s eyes softened. “There are herds of cattle to satisfy your appetite, villages ripe for terrorizing, and there are smaller dragons.” Does he know about the black? she wondered.

“That is where I want you to begin.”

“I go where I want, hunt what I want. I do what I want.”

“You will teach them they should not have defied Chaos,” the warrior replied. “They should not have forced my father to leave.”

“No one tells me what to do.”

“I am telling you,” the shadow man hissed. “I am telling you to devastate Ansalon, to slay the humans and elves. The people will no longer be the dominant force in the land. You will—under my direction.”

“And the dragons?”

“The dragons are scattered. With their goddess Takhisis gone—”

“So Takhisis is a goddess,” the red mused. The black thought me a goddess.

“The gods are gone. All of them,” the daemon warrior continued, irate that the red had interrupted him. “The dragons have no leader. A few of them challenge the people from time to time, but not many. Yesterday I watched a great blue fly over a city and claim not one life.”

I could lead the dragons, the red thought. I could rule this Ansalon.

“The Dairly Plains...” The words seeped out of her mouth like steam.

“That is where I want you to start. The people on the Dairly Plains are unsuspecting. Unprepared.”

“There is land beyond these Dairly Plains?” the red hissed.

“Of course,” the shadow man replied. “After you strike against the Dairly Plains, I will instruct you where to travel next. Do you have a name? I would know what to call my impressive pawn.”

The dragon furrowed her considerable scarlet brow. “Malystryx. My name is Malystryx.”

“Malys,” the shadow man voiced, finding the shorter word more accommodating. Again the daemon warrior gestured toward the Dairly Plains.

The dragon’s eyes followed the shadow man’s foggy fingers, then she looked up and met his hollow gaze. All of a sudden her paw shot out, swiftly striking the warrior. Claws raked through his nebulous image.

Malys saw the surprise on his face, and she felt a surprisingly cold sensation when what passed for his blood trickled over her paws. As the daemon warrior gasped, she brought her massive head in closer, her breath scalding the air.

“Fire might not harm you,” Malys uttered. “But there are other ways to slay.” Opening her maw, she edged nearer, and her teeth closed about the daemon warrior. She felt his cold, heavy body slide down her throat, then she folded her wings close to her body, and angled herself toward the coastline of the Dairly Plains.

She spread her wings as the land rushed up to meet her, and glided south along the eastern shore, following a rocky coastline. Shards of obsidian and quartzlike stones jutted up from the water like teeth. Not as sharp or deadly as my teeth, she thought.

Reaching the tip of the land, she turned and started north, skimming across the treetops this time and inhaling deeply. Lush and heady scents tickled her nostrils—unusual flowers, exotic herbs, plants she was unfamiliar with. Birds scattered, and her keen, darting eyes took them in. They were too small to eat; she simply watched them.

The forest ended and a verdant plain stretched before her. Tall grass formed a dark green carpet that ranged toward a clearing that was the site of a small village. Malys trained her eyes on the thatched huts and the antlike people milling about. Oblivious to the red dragon, they were busying themselves with chores and games.

They all look so peaceful, unsuspecting, unprepared, she mused, using the daemon warrior’s words.

Something cooked over a central fire, some tiny creature being roasted on a spit. The smell reminded the red dragon that she was famished. She swooped closer. As her shadow touched the edge of the village, she spied one of the people as he glanced up. He pointed at her, began waving a fleshy arm and shouting.

In a heartbeat, all of the people were looking up. Some dropped baskets of fruit they had been carrying. Others cried and ran toward the false safety of their huts. A few grabbed spears and shook them at her. They were yelling words she couldn’t quite make out because too many of them were shouting at the same time. Their voices sounded like the buzzing of insects.

Curious, and knowing that she would have to get closer to feast upon them anyway, she landed at the edge of the village. The impact of her weight sent tremors that knocked some of the humans to the ground.

An especially brave one advanced on her. His eyes fixed on her massive head, and he boldly thrust a spear. For an instant, the red dragon considered slaying him with her claw and granting him the honor of being killed by her touch. But curiosity got the better of her, and she called forth a gout of flame. It sped up her throat and raced outward from her mouth in a cone-shaped pattern that first engulfed the brave villager, and then struck at the huts directly behind.

So they are not all like the daemon warrior, she mused. Fire hurts these people.

The brave villager’s screams were brief, and the fire so hot that Malys barely smelled the burning flesh. Striding forward over the charred form, she flapped her wings to fan the flames, causing them to leap to other huts.

She felt something nudge her haunch. She twisted her head and saw two spearmen thrusting at her back leg. Their spears couldn’t penetrate her thick scales.

She shot her right claw forward to topple one of the few huts not on fire. Three young cowered inside. Malys smashed them with a footfall.

She thrust her neck forward and opened her maw and scooped up a handful of villagers trying to flee. Their struggling forms disappeared quickly down her throat, and she turned her attention to another group, which also helped to appease her appetite.

More warriors joined the pair at her haunches. They yelled curses and poked their spears futilely at her. Through the stench of burned flesh and thatch, she picked up the delightful scent of sweat mingled with fear. She twitched her tail and swatted them, crushing their chests and ending their lives.

There were still a few left, and these were running toward the forest on the other side of the village. She pushed against the ground, and leapt toward them. She coaxed forth another blast of fire. The flames streaked beyond the runners, scorching the trees beyond.

The people spun on their heels and started back toward the village, but Malys landed in their path. They didn’t plead with her. She surmised they were smart enough to know their lives were over. Her mouth snapped open and shoveled up the closest few, then she moved in and slowly savored the rest.

As the sated red dragon vaulted into the air, the forest fire rose. She banked toward the south, soaring past the burning village and the grassy plain.

Soon her wings carried her over another forest. The trees were tall and inviting, their canopy massive enough to cloak her presence.

Descending, her feet crashed through the topmost branches, toppled a few of the oldest oaks, and struck the rich loam.

I will rest here, she thought. This will be my home for a time—as long as I stay in these Dairly Plains. But I will not stay here forever.