The Dragons

Chapter 22

2693 PC

Deathfyre watched the pair of silver shapes until they were long out of view. The two dragons of argent were big, but they flew like neophytes, wyrms who didn’t acknowledge the possibility of danger anywhere in the sky. The red felt a tingle of pure hatred, and only with difficulty did he restrain the urge to attack. Still, he knew his purpose here, and he wouldn’t risk that mission for a momentary act of violence, however tempting the targets.

When they were gone, he allowed the spell of invisibility to fall from his scales. Deathfyre relished the sight of his serpentine, blood-red body, and only reluctantly had he employed magic to mask his beauty from the world. Still, the concealment had served a useful purpose. He was certain that the silvers hadn’t seen him when they winged with such urgency out of the low, tree-shaded valley.

Regretfully, much of his current mission required him to travel in a state of invisibility or other magical disguise, such as the body of the soaring condor that he often employed. Deathfyre was proud of his crimson shape, but he was able to overcome that pride in order to serve the needs of concealment-and to hasten the chances of winning this war.

For a moment, he reflected on the grand, swift invasion that he and Crematia had led against the elves of Silvanesti. The bakali had proved to be loyal and effective troops, and with the skies overhead filled with chromatic dragons, they had accompanied the ogres in an irresistible onslaught. The northern border of Silvanesti had been breached in a series of swift battles, the elven garrisons caught before they could entrench. The magical barriers that had risen along the invasion routes into the forest realm had given the attackers only momentary pause, as the lightning and acid breath of blue and black dragons had quickly breached those arcane barriers.

When Deathfyre had left the battlefields a few seasons earlier, the armies had been surging southward with ruthless violence. They should be nearing the island capital of the elven realm by now, and it was Deathfyre’s devout hope that he would complete his mission and be able to return to the south in time for the final destruction. That conquest, so long overdue, would be Crematia’s greatest triumph-and the dawn of Deathfyre’s mastery.

But his mother was right about one thing, a lesson she had carried with her from the Abyss: They must always strive to find their strongest enemy and destroy him. And, despite the power of the three mages, that most lethal enemy was unquestionably represented by the metal dragons of Paladine, and their golden patriarch in particular.

Two crimson shapes popped into view beside Deathfyre, the pair of female red dragons coiling sinuously beside their leader as they inspected the valley beyond the concealing ridge.

“Did you mark the lair?” asked Cynysi, her tongue flicking along Deathfyre’s neck as she whispered the question.

“Yes, my pet, though I cannot know for certain if the two silvers were leaving their grotto or returning to it.”

“How shall we tell?” asked Kyri, jealously pressing close at his other side. “Perhaps they are flying back to the great lair, not departing from it Then we shall have lost them.”

“I have a way to find out. Mask yourself, my females, and wait for me here.”

Once again Deathfyre regretfully cast his invisibility spell, not daring to be discovered. Taking to the air, diving through the long shadows cast by the setting sun, he investigated the place that the silvers had left behind with such precipitate haste. He had been embarked on this search for a long time, but now he allowed himself to hope, for-thanks to his lucky glimpse of the two silvers-it seemed he might be drawing close to his goal.

Soon he saw the small cave mouth, and he settled to the cliff just above it. After insuring that a stiff wind blew up the face of the mountain, a breeze that would keep his scent from any nostrils within the cave, he sniffed-and was immediately rewarded with the stench of metal dragonkind, which hung thick in the air.

Yet the odor was dominated by the overriding, acidic stench of a copper dragon, and as the wind blew the last of the silvers’ spoor away, Deathfyre knew that this was not, in fact, the true object of his search. Instead, it was more likely the lair of a single, solitary dragon.

Deathfyre, with the help of Cynysi and Kyri, had been charged by Crematia with finding the lair of all the good dragons, and he all but growled at the thought that he still hadn’t succeeded. Still, this was closer than he had ever come before. When he had seen the two silvers, he had guessed that they had been departing from the great nesting lair of the metal dragons; now it seemed more likely that the mysterious hidden cavern had been their destination.

With an inaudible snarl of frustration, Deathfyre looked back to the west. The pair of silver serpents were long gone by now. He would never be able to catch sight of them.

But he was close; he knew it! There had to be something… and then his snarl turned to a rasp of quiet pleasure as he seized upon a plan.

When he leaned over the cliff to sample the air with his great nostrils, the scent of the copper was stronger than ever, strong enough to convince him that one of the good dragons remained within. Once again Deathfyre let the mask of invisibility fall away from himself. He took to the air, flying a roundabout course away from the copper’s lair. Finding Cynysi and Kyri, he gave them explicit directions, then left to wing strongly, and in plain sight, up the valley below the hidden cave.

“Here me, my kin-dragons!” he bellowed, his voice powerful enough to rattle rocks loose from the bluffs. Averting his head, he nevertheless eyed the lair from the corner of his eye. Soon a lanky shape moved there, crouching low but unmistakably staring outward.

“Come to me, my red sisters, my kin-dragons of black and white, my blues and greens! I have found the lair of the good dragons!” Now he allowed a hint of exultant triumph to enter into his voice, sensing the stiffening posture of the hidden listener. He bugled his words, filling his chest with air, shouting with forceful volume.

“Their nest lies to the west of this great ridge!” He extended his head toward the crest of the High Kharolis. “Gather with me in our sacred clearing. We will mass there. Tomorrow we attack!”

With perfect timing, the two females came into view, hurrying to join with Deathfyre’s steady flight. “This way!” he called, more loudly than was necessary. “Come with me as we gather our numbers!”

Propelled by a final pulse of his wings, Deathfyre lifted himself up and over the ridge flanking the valley, with Cynysi and Kyri flying right behind him. As soon as they were out of sight of the cave, Deathfyre again became invisible, then circled back to watch.

Coming to rest on the crest opposite the cave, he saw the slender copper emerge. The serpent’s agitation was clear in the stiff, twitching restlessness of his wings, and in the jerking of his head back and forth. The quandary was obvious to the sinister watcher. The dragon was torn between staying in his cave, or flying to the secret lair to carry the warning to his kin-dragons. Obviously it was not an easy decision.

Finally the copper made up his mind. He took to the air, flying with visible urgency, staying as near to the ground as he could. His course was the same as that taken by the two silvers.

And he was completely unaware of the massive, winged shape that glided silently and quickly and invisibly in his wake.