Dragons of a New Age

30 Secrets

It was late that night, and they had not yet departed for Palanthas. Under the light of several tall, thick candles that warmly lit the bell-shaped jar and bounced off the polished table, Palin continued to study the spawn. His copious and detailed notes were spread out nearby; some were on the floor. Stacks of unused sheets occupied an adjacent chair.

A stubble was flourishing across his face, the true makings of a beard, and his eyes were shadowed by fatigue. His stomach quietly rumbled—he’d been so absorbed with the operation that he passed on dinner. The Master had brought him a plate of bread and cheese, a small bowl of sugared berries, and a glass of wine. All of it sat untouched. The spawn eyed it hungrily.

The Master of the Tower was with Dhamon and his companions several levels below now, quizzing them about their encounter with the creatures, and using a few simple spells to recreate the battle—phantasmal ghosts playacting against the dining room wall, replaying the struggle again and again.

Dhamon watched, his fists clenched. He did not enjoy experiencing scenes of battle. He wondered if the threat of a new draconian army was the precursor to something more horrific than he had ever experienced.

High overhead, Palin shook the jar until the angry spawn let loose with another barrage of miniature lightning bolts.

“Interesting creature, Majere.”

Palin turned. From the darkest corner of the room, the black-cloaked Shadow Sorcerer emerged. The figure separated itself from the room’s shadows and edged toward the table, its metallic mask sparkling in the candlelight. The Shadow Sorcerer scanned the sheets of parchment, as Palin explained his findings at length.

“I saw the Red,” the Shadow Sorcerer said. “She is a huge female, larger than any other dragon we’ve observed, perhaps as large as Takhisis. She had no... spawn, as you call it, no draconians. However, she did have a growing army of creatures—goblins and hobgoblins.”

“Perhaps all the dragon overlords are amassing armies,” Palin explained. “If they were doing so to fight amongst themselves, I would not be as concerned. But the Dragon Purge is long over—not for several years has there been any fighting each other. And there’s no arguing that their war is against us now. The good dragons are doing what they can, but they have to work in secret.”

The black-cloaked figure nodded. “Secrets are sometimes necessary.”

Palin looked at the Sorcerer for a moment, then went back to arranging his notes. “I am concerned about the spawn.”

“Indeed.” As the sorcerer leaned closer to the jar, the spawn in turn peered into the shadowy recesses of the figure’s hood.

“We are leaving for Palanthas, a spot outside the city.”

“When?” the Shadow Sorcerer asked.

“Now. After I saw to the care of a boy whose village had been attacked, we had only to wait for you.” Palin rose from his chair. “I will gather the others together for transport. We can waste no more time.” He descended the stairs, pausing by a painting of his Uncle Raistlin. He gave everything for magic, for his art, Palin thought. Am I sacrificing myself, too?