The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 1 Deaths and Beginnings

The increasing pressure of the cool blue water snapped Dhamon awake. He was floating just above the lake’s silty bottom, his long hair fluttering like the fronds around him, his chest burning for air. He ached terribly from his fight with the dragon, but somehow he managed to summon a last bit of strength, kicking hard and struggling toward the surface. As he rose, he felt his limbs grow heavy and numb. Dhamon felt himself slip toward the comforting embrace of darkness. Then his head broke the surface and he gasped, coughing up a lungful of water and greedily gulping in air.

His hair was plastered over his eyes, but through a gap in the strands he spotted Palin, Feril, and Rig walking up a hill, away from the edge of the lake.

“Feril!” He raised his arm and thrashed about to get the elf’s attention. But he wasn’t loud enough. She was too far away to hear him, and getting farther with each passing heartbeat.

“Feril!” he called again; then something brushed against him and dosed around his leg. His cries were silenced as he felt himself being pulled under. Water rushed down his throat and the darkness reached up and swallowed him.

Just before dawn, Flint’s Anvil eased away from the Palanthas docks. The green-hulled carrack glided as swiftly and silently as a wraith through the maze of fishing boats already dotting the deep bay. Palin Majere moved toward the bow, listening to the soft splash of the fishing nets hitting the water and the nearly imperceptible creaking of the Anvil’s deck beneath his sandaled feet.

The son of famed Heroes of the Lance Caramon and Tika Majere as well as one of the few survivors of the Battle of the Rift, Palm was called the most powerful sorcerer on Krynn. Yet for all his magical skills and arcane knowledge, he felt powerless against the dragons threatening his world. He cursed himself for having been unable to save Shaon of Istar and Dhamon Grimwulf when the blue had attacked yesterday.

Palin leaned against the rail and stared at a spot on the horizon where the rose-tinted sky met the waves. His gray-streaked auburn hair whipped about in the wind, and he halfheartedly brushed it away from his eyes and yawned. Sleep had escaped him last night. He had lain awake listening to the sounds of the workers repairing the Anvil’s mainmast, which the dragon had snapped in half during its assault. When the work was completed, he had listened to the water flapping against the hull and had thought about his dead friends.

“We’re far enough out!” called Rig Mer-Krel, the sea barbarian who captained the Anvil He motioned to Groller, the half-ogre standing by the rear mast. Then he raised his arm, pointed to sails, clenched his fist, and brought his hand in quickly toward his chest.

The deaf half-ogre nodded in understanding of Rig’s hand signals and started lowering the sails, stepping around Fury — the red wolf sleeping near the base of the mast. The rest of the Anvil’s complement stood amidships. The group formed a ring around a human-shaped bundle carefully wrapped in an old sail. Jasper Fireforge, nephew of the legendary Flint Fireforge, knelt next to the bundle and ran his stubby dwarven fingers over the silk cord wrapped around it. He mumbled a few words to the absent gods of the sea, stroked his short brown beard, and choked back a sob.

Behind him stood Feril. The Kagonesti closed her eyes, and tears slid down over the oak leaf tattoo on her cheek. “Shaon,” she whispered. “I will miss you, my friend.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” softly echoed Blister, a middle-aged kender. She grimaced as she fidgeted with the white gloves on her small hands; “You’re the only person I ever told about … about my — ”

“Shaon loved the sea,” Rig began, his resonant voice cutting off the kender s reflections. “I often joked that salt water, not blood, ran in her veins. She was more at home on the rolling deck of a ship than on solid ground. She was my first mate, my friend, and my …” The mariner’s big frame shuddered as he stooped to cradle the bundle. His muscles strained, for the body was weighted with ballast to help it sink. “Today we return her to that which she cherished.”

He walked toward the railing and paused, picturing Shaon’s walnut-brown face beneath the canvas. He would miss the feel of her skin against his and he would never forget her infectious smile. He dropped the first mate’s body over the side of the ship and watched it quickly sink out of view. “I will never forget you,” he said, so softly that no one else could hear.

Feril stepped to the rail beside him. The breeze fanned her curly auburn hair around her shoulders and teased the tips of her pointed ears. “Dhamon Grimwulf died, too, though we could not recover his body. He abandoned his life as a Knight of Takhisis to take on a noble cause, and he sacrificed himself to slay the blue dragon who killed Shaon.” The Kagonesti held a leather thong in her slender hand. She had found it among the scant possessions Dhamon had brought aboard the Anvil. She paused to tie the short strip of leather around an arrowhead. “Dhamon brought us together. Let us honor his memory—and Shaon’s—by staying together and reclaiming our home from the dragons.” The arrowhead and thong slipped from her fingers and plunged into the sea much as Dhamon and the blue dragon named Gale had plunged to their deaths into the nearby lake.

For a long while the only sound was the faint creaking of the ship’s masts. Finally Rig backed away from the rail and nodded to Groller. The half-ogre raised the sails, and the dark-skinned mariner made his way to the wheel.

Noon, several days later, found Rig, Palin, Blister and Feril drenched with sweat, standing in the desert of the Northern Wastes. Before them sat a foot-long curly-tailed lizard. It flicked its forked tongue and peered with special intent at the Kagonesti, who was communicating with it. The others looked on, but understood none of the unusual conversation.

“Only for a short time can I share this desert, little one,” Feril said aloud in clicks and hisses.

“Run with me across the sand. Enjoy with me my very, very beautiful home. Plenty of desert for everyone.”

“It is a most beautiful desert,” Feril admitted. “But I need to know—**

“Catch with me insects. Crunchy beetles. Sweet butterflies. Juicy hoppers. Very, very juicy hoppers. Plenty for everyone.”

“I’m not interested in insects,” Feril explained.

The lizard looked disappointed and turned away.

“Please don’t leave,” she hissed, kneeling dose to the lizard.

“What are they talking about?” The kender asked, eyeing them with typical wide-eyed curiosity. “Rig, do you know what they’re talking about? All I hear are hissing noises. Sounds like a couple of tea kettles.”

“Shh!” the mariner scolded.

“I wish I knew how to use magic like that,” Blister said huffily. “I’d be able to talk to anything… everything.” The kender crossed her arms and glared down at the ground, at least what she could see of it over her thin orange tunic that billowed about her short legs in the hot, dry wind. The tunic was another sore point. That morning, when Blister had come up from below deck wearing the large orange garment along with green gloves and a green belt, Rig had said she looked like a ripe pumpkin. The comment was enough to make her doff her matching orange boots in favor of brown sandals and to leave her green hat behind. “Palin, couldn’t you cast a spell or something so we can all understand what the lizard is—”

“He’s telling me about his big desert,” Feril said, briefly glancing at Blister. She reached out and scratched the top of the lizard’s head and resumed hissing and clicking.

“It is an awfully big desert,” Blister admitted as she glanced at the sea of sand spreading away from them in all directions. She had to strain her eyes to see the Anvil’s masts edging into the northern horizon. So thin and far away, the kender thought they looked like sewing needles sticking out of the white fabric of the landscape. “I know it’s a very big desert because I saw a map of it. Dhamon bought the map in Palanthas several weeks ago—before we went into the desert way south of here. Shaon was with us.” She paused when she saw Rig’s lips tighten at the mention of Shaon. “Of course,” the kender quickly continued, “Dhamon didn’t have the map for very long. Spawn attacked us and frightened away our horses, and the map was on Dhamon’s horse, which is who knows where now. Do you think the horse is alive? Do you think we’ll need another map? Or maybe the lizard could sort of, you know, draw a map in the sand with its tail. Or maybe we—”

“Shh!” Palin and Rig admonished practically in unison.

The kender thrust out her bottom lip, ground her heel into the sand, and stared at the curly-tailed lizard, which was staring attentively at Feril.

“You’re very smart,” the Kagonesti hissed.

” Very, very smart,” the lizard added. It sat back on its small haunches and looked up at her smooth, tanned face and sparkling eyes. “Smartest one in this wonderful desert.”

“I’ll bet you know a lot of what goes on here.”

“Know everything,” the lizard replied, puffing out its small chest

“What do you know about a blue dragon?”

“Blue?” Its curly tail straightened for an instant, and it bunked at her quizzically. “Brown like mud?”

“Blue like the sky,” she corrected.

Its mind whirled in deliberation. “The very, very big lizard?”

Feril nodded.

“Wings? Like a bird?”

“Yes, die dragon can fly.”

“Stay with me away from the very, very big lizard,” the curly-tailed one lectured. “It will eat you very, very quickly.”

Blister tugged on Rig’s pant leg. “I wonder if Feril’s telling the lizard this was really all your idea. We all preferred to go to Southern Ergoth after the White. You’ve got Dhamon’s lance, and you might be able to kill it.”

“It’s my lance.”

‘Now” Blister agreed. “But originally it belonged to Sturm Brightblade, and he used it In the War of the Lance a long time ago. And then it belonged to people who took it apart and kept the pieces as souvenirs. And then Dhamon and Palin put it all back together, and then the lance belonged to Dhamon until he died. Maybe you should have brought it along in case we run into a dragon. Maybe you shouldn’t have left it on the ship with Groller and Jasper. Maybe we should be heading to Southern Ergoth instead.”

“We will go to Southern Ergoth,” Rig said emphatically.

“Good, but I still think you should have brought the lance.”

Rig sighed and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Listen, Blister. I don’t know how to use the lance. Satisfied?”

“I thought you could use any weapon. Feril says you’re a walking arsenal.”

“Swords, daggers, garrotes—those I know how to use. A bola in a pinch, and a couple of others. But a lance is something different entirely. You need both hands for it, and it’s heavy. I want to practice a little bit with it first, become familiar with it Using a weapon I’m unfamiliar with could do me more harm than good.”

“So, you’re basically saying that you don’t want Palin to see that you can’t use the lance. That’s why you’re whispering so he won’t hear.”

Rig groaned. “Blister…”

“Anyway, why should you drag around a big lance in the desert? It’ll only make you sweatier and hotter and grumpier. You know, you could give it to someone who does know how to use it Maybe Groller could use it or even—”

“It’s my lance,” the mariner repeated. “I’ll have plenty of tune—weeks, months—to practice on our way to Southern Ergoth.”

“We should just go to Southern Ergoth right now.”

“I said we would, but only after we find the blue dragons lair. That dragon killed Shaon, killed Dhamon as it was dying. Dragons have lots of treasure—so they say. And I aim to get as much of it as I can carry.”

“Well, I’ve never been on a treasure hunt before,” Blister said cheerfully. “It all seems so exciting—even though it’s so hot. I’m surprised Palin’s going along with it, though. He really wanted to go to Southern Ergoth.”

Rig sighed. “Palm agreed because I’m the captain of the ship, and he needs me to get to Southern Ergoth.”

“I agreed because I think we can learn more about dragons by studying a dead dragon’s lair” corrected Palin. “We might gain dues that will help us defeat a living one.”

“That’s provided we can even find the lair,” Blister said. “The couple of birds Feril talked to this morning didn’t seem too helpful. And now this lizard… well, who knows what it’s saying?”

“Shh!” Feril interjected. “I can barely hear my little friend here.”

“The very, very big lizard eats everything,” the curly-tailed lizard continued. “Eats camels and—”

“It won’t eat anything again” Feril hissed. “It’s dead. A friend of mine killed it”

The lizard closed its eyes and its dark red tongue flicked in what Feril sensed was a sign of relief. “Very, very glad it is dead.”

“We want to see where it lived.”

“Lizard hole is dark and very, very stinky. Smells like death.”

“You were there?”

“Once. Went inside chasing beetles, then went outside. Stinky. Did not want beetles that bad.”

“Will you take us there?”

“No.” It wrinkled its scaly nose, uncurled its tail, and turned toward the southeast. “The very, very big lizard lived that way. Near rocks that touch the sky. Far walk from here, three days, four, two. But not so far for you. Only one for you, maybe.” It looked at her long legs. “Very glad it is dead. Come run with me across the sand. Search with me for juicy hoppers.”

Feril shook her head. “I haven’t time today.” She rose and brushed the sand off her knees and watched the lizard scamper away.

“Did it know anything about the dragon’s lair?” Rig asked. The mariner wiped the sweat from his face and took a long draw from one of his waterskins.

“This way,” Feril answered, pointing in the direction the lizard had indicated. “Follow me.”

Shortly before sunset the foursome stopped to rest. They could find no cover and simply sat down on the sand, near a small dune. Palin’s legs ached from all the walking, and his feet burned from the grains of sand that were constantly getting between the soles of his feet and the leather of the sandals. The thin garments he wore, once pale green, now were dark with sweat and clung to his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something cool.

“You’re sure the lair is around here?” Rig slumped a few feet away from Palin and kept his eyes on the Kagonesti.

“In this direction, yes,” Feril replied.

“How much farther?” The mariner tugged off his shirt. His dark skin gleamed, and he futilely tried to blot himself dry with the sweat-soaked shirt. Then he put it back on. “We’ve been at this all day. Maybe talking to animals wasn’t the best way to find the dragon’s lair.”

“And you have a better suggestion? This whole trip was your idea, Rig Mer-Krel” she reminded him. “If you hadn’t been so set on finding the dead dragon’s lair and getting rich, we’d be… .” She let the words trail off. Home, she thought, we’d be well on our way to Southern Ergoth—my home until the white dragon moved in.

Feril turned her back to the two men and concentrated on the warm wind playing across her skin. She was enduring the heat much better than her grumbling companions. A wild elf, she was inured to many of the vagaries of nature, and she savored rather than despised dramatic climates. She stared at the steadily dropping sun. A brilliant ball, it was painting the desert a pale orange-red. It was captivating, and she wished for a moment that Dhamon was alive and here to share it with her.

“At least we won’t be sweating when we get to Southern Ergoth,” Blister offered. She gingerly raised her gloved hands to her head and fussed with her braids. She sucked in her bottom Up when her fingers started to ache, and decided to leave her hair as it was. “Wonder how cold it’ll be there? Probably not as cold as it is hot here. I’m drowning in sweat”

The mariner smiled—his first smile since Shaon’s death. He emptied his second waterskin into his mouth, leaned back against the dune, and closed his eyes. He wondered what Shaon would think about him traipsing across the sand and looking for a hole in the ground where a dragon—the dragon who killed her—once lived.

The sound of flapping wings interrupted Rig’s thoughts. He glanced at a rise in the sand several yards away. A vulture had come to roost and was watching them; a few more birds circled high overhead.

Feril feverishly worked a lump of clay into a miniature sculpture of the bird. She concentrated on the smells and sounds of the desert around her and then felt her mind floating on the warm wind toward the vulture. She intensified her concentration until the connection was made across the distance and she had entered the vulture’s thoughts.

Dying soon? it cawed loudly, the shrill tones filling her head. My belly rumbles and you would fill it nicely.

She shook her head. I plan on living a long time.

Humans without camels do not live long in this heat, it cawed. Soon you will stumble and not get up. Soon you will smell sweetly of death and we will feast.

You like the smell of death. It was a statement, but Feril saw the bird bob its head in assent.

So sweet, it cawed.

Perhaps you know a place nearby where the smell of death hangs heavy?

Just as the stars winked into view, the quartet spotted an enormous rocky rise. It stretched across the sand like the spine of some half-buried beast, and it reached at least forty feet high in places.

“Rocks that touch the sky,” Feril whispered, remembering the curly-tailed lizard’s words. “The dragon laired here.”

Palin brushed by her and walked toward a cave entrance. It was incredibly wide and low to the ground. It looked like a great, dark shadow cast by the ridge above it and was practically hidden by the night sky. Even in daylight it might be difficult to spot because of the shadows.

The mariner raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see any dragon tracks.”

“The wind,” Feril said, pointing at the sand that blew at their feet. “It covered them, just as it’s covering ours.”

“If there were any tracks to cover,” Rig said. “Who knows if the vulture was telling you the truth? It probably wasn’t any smarter than the lizard.” He looked at the sorcerer. “It’s dark put here. It’s going to be darker in there.”

“We could wait until morning ” Feril suggested.

Palin was exhausted, but more than he wanted rest, he wanted to get this over with, return to the Anvil, and leave the hateful heat behind. The sorcerer dosed his eyes and concentrated, sensing the energy around him, feeling for the faint magical pulse of the land.

In his youth it was strong and powerful—godly-given and so easy to grasp, able to birth the greatest of spelts. But it was like a whisper on the wind now, only detectable by a skilled sorcerer. To craft great spells required much strength of will and perseverance. Palin’s mind grasped the natural energy and channeled it toward his open palm, shaping it, coaxing it, and Grafting a variation of a fire enchantment

“Wow!” Buster exclaimed.

The sorcerer opened his eyes. In his hand was a glowing orb of light, brilliant but no hotter than the desert air. It alternately pulsed white, orange, and scarlet, like the flickering flames of a campfire. The rudimentary spell worked better than any lantern. “Let’s see what the dragon left behind,” Palin said. He ted the way into the cave.

The still air inside was filled with the cloying scent of death. It was so strong that Palin’s eyes began to water. Near the entrance, broken bones and tufts of fur were scattered here and there. Palin knelt to examine them. “Camels,” he said. “Only something big could eat this many camels.”

He stood and moved deeper into the cave, where the air was stale, but not as foul smelling. Following the stone floor that sloped steeply downward, he entered a massive underground cave that was a few hundred feet across. The light from the globe in the sorcerer’s hands barely tit the walls and the ceiling, and it did nothing to chase away the shadows that clung to niches and other rock formations.

“I’ve never been in a cave so big!” Blister chirped. “Where to start, oh where to start. Palin, look at this!”

The kender stood near a rocky outcropping, pointing at a spot in the floor where a bit of sand had been brushed away. Palin could see deep gouges in the stone. They seemed to form a pattern. He brushed away more of the sand so he could see all of the design. Blister helped for a moment, then rushed away suddenly to investigate something else. Part of the etching looked familiar, like the written component of some transformation incantation Palin had seen before.

“Interesting that a dragon would rely on this type of magic,” he mused aloud. “Dragons have an innate arcane power.” He studied the pattern intently. The curved line represented change or rebirth. The wavy line that cut through it had gold dust sprinkled along its length and symbolized strength and energy, and the wax-filled circle that cut through the half moon meant—

“Palin!” Feril called to him from a dozen yards away. She and Blister were kneeling and staring at something in the sand. There was a crack in the cave roof directly above them, and the sorcerer saw traces of sand, like falling snowflakes, filtering down from it. “You’d better take a look at this ” There was an urgency in the Kagonesti’s voice, enough to pull Palin away from the diagram.

Rig, who had been preoccupied with taking in the size of the place, was quick to join them. “It’s part of a big footprint” he observed, leaning in over the Kagonesti’s shoulder. “It means your animal buddies were right. This really was that blue dragon’s lair. And that means I’m going to head deeper and look for the treasure. I told you this trip wasn’t going to take long.”

The Kagonesti scowled and pointed toward a depression. “That would be a mark from a talon, and from its position, I’d say it was the small talon of its right front paw.”

“Uh-oh ” the kender whispered.

“So the dragon had a very big talon,” Rig said. “So what? We knew that. We saw it up close when it killed Shaon. C’mon, Blister, I’ll need some help filling these.” He tugged a couple of leather bags free from his belt and held one out to the kender. Blister didn’t budge, she was engrossed in scrutinizing the footprint.

“This mark is too big ” Feril said. “The dragon that killed Shaon and Dhamon wasn’t nearly big enough to make this print. Believe it or not, I think we’re in the wrong lair”

“Uh-oh,” Blister repeated even more softly.

“And the track is fresh, I’d guess about a day old,” the elf continued.

“Not the lair of the dead blue dragon?” Rig asked, his voice suddenly quiet. He swallowed hard and glanced at Palin. “The lance is on the ship. I didn’t think I’d need it for a dead dragon’s lair. We’d better get out of here before it’s too late.”

“Late too much,” came a deep, rasping voice from the lair’s entrance.

Panic seized the quartet. As one, they turned to face the speaker. The creature was the color of baked mud, mottled in places. Dragonlike in form, it had scales and skin covering most of its body, with patches on its belly that looked like clumps of gravel. The beast’s leathery wings resembled those of a bat’s, and its snout was long and pointed, filled with a double row of sharp teeth that clacked together menacingly. Large pear-shaped eyes the color of the night sky bored into the foursome.

The creature flicked its barbed tail, flexed the claws on its hind feet and took a step closer. It had no front legs, only the wings (hat were barbed on the tips and looked as formidable as talons. Its wingspan must have measured almost fifty feet, and its neck was long and supple like a giant constrictor. The motion of its wings sent the sand on the floor rushing away.

“A wyvern,” Palin noted.

“The brown dragon the lizard mentioned ” Feril said.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Blister said, a hint of awe creeping into her voice.

“At least it’s not a real dragon,” Rig said, relaxing only a little. “And it certainly couldn’t have made that print.” He drew his cutlass. The blade gleamed in the light from Palin’s glowing orb. “And it’s not nearly as big as the thing that killed Shaon. I can take it.”

“Take what?” the wyvern growled. “Something steal? Mad be master.”

“I didn’t think wyverns could talk,” Palin whispered to Feril.

“They can’t,” she answered.

“What find?” Another voice, as harsh as chalk being drawn across slate, reverberated in the cavern. “Something find?”

The quartet watched as a second wyvern emerged. It was slightly smaller than the other, and looked nearly identical. Its barbed tail swished back and forth, and it craned its neck around the edge of its fellow wyvern’s outstretched wing so it could get a better look.

“People” the smaller wyvern announced. “Found people. Supposed to be here?”

“Don’t know,” the other answered. “Weren’t here when left. Now here. Hot when left. Now cool. People came between hot and cool. Stupid people.”

Rig’s hand clenched tighter around the hilt of his cutlass. His dark eyes darted back and forth between the two wyverns.

“Searching for a dragon’s treasure was a wonderful idea,” Feril whispered to the mariner. She cocked her head in Palin’s direction. “Studying a dragon’s lair would teach us a few things, you said. If you had both listened to me, we’d be on our way to Southern Ergoth.”

“It could be worse,” the kender offered. “There could be more of them—or the dragon that made that print.”

“I feel much better,” the mariner muttered.

“Stop talk. Surrender,” the large one insisted. Its eyes focused on Rig. “Drop shiny sticker. Now.”

“No!” Rig bellowed. His feet churned over the sand-covered floor as he closed the distance to the larger beast. He raised his blade high above his head and brought it down in a sweeping motion, slicing through the hide of the wyvern’s belly. The slash wasn’t very deep, and the creature howled more in surprise than pain.

“Not they surrender,” the smaller observed, seemingly nonplussed by Rig’s attack. “Do what now?” it asked its companion. “Do something?”

“Catch people,” the large wyvern replied as it dodged Rig’s second blow. “Give to master.”

“Give to Storm Over Krynn when comes!” the other exclaimed. “Idea good.”

The Storm Over Krynn, Palin mouthed. “This is Khellendros’s lair! We’ve got to get out of here!”

“Khellendros? The dragon overlord?” Blister shouted. She thrust her gloved hand into the bag at her side, and her fingers rumbled over an assortment of oddities she kept there. At last she was rewarded, and tugged free a sling. The kender filled it with the next object she grasped—a walnut—and she twirled the sling above her head, then swung it forward. The nut spun free toward the smaller wyvern, striking it on the nose.

“People sting!” it squawked.

Palin blotted out the sounds around him and concentrated on the globe in his hand. He watched the colors intensify and felt the warmth grow on his palm. When it became so hot it practically burned him, the sorcerer let the globe fall to the cave floor and continued to focus on it.

At the same time, Feril dropped to her stomach and splayed her hands in front of her, brushing furiously away at the sand until her fingers touched the cool stone beneath. She felt the smoothness, hard and ancient and powerful. She closed her eyes and let her senses drift away from her, seeping into the stone, merging with it. The Kagonesti felt strong and heavy, sluggish and immoveable and primeval. She felt the sand atop the stone, the feet of her companions, the heat of Palin’s magical fire, and the clawed talons of the wyverns.

Be like water, she urged the rock. Flow with me. Feril felt the rock responding to her mental commands, and it became soft like clay. She struggled to dig her fingers into the stone. “Softer,” she entreated the rock. “Flow like water. Hurry.” She was quickly rewarded; her hands sank into the liquid stone, cool and thick like mud. Her fingers worked furiously, sketching a stream with wavy lines. “Away from me now. Run like a river.”

“Fire hurt! Don’t like hurt,” the smaller wyvern complained.

Palin had built his orb of flame into a veritable bonfire, and now a gout of fire streaked toward the smaller wyvern. The creature’s chest and one of its wings were badly singed. It flapped madly to put the fire out and cool itself. The sorcerer concentrated on the flame again and coaxed another searing lick forth to strike the creature. Its keening yowl echoed in the cavern.

“Not people surrender!” the smaller wyvern screeched. “People hurt us. Burn us! Still catch?”

“Catch not!” the larger wyvern cried. Distracted by the fire and its companion, the creature did not see Rig dart in close. The mariner took another swing, his blade cutting deep this time, leaving a growing line of black blood on the wyvern’s belly. The creature growled and its head shot forward, its clacking jaws narrowly missing the agile mariner as he retreated.

“Kill people!” the smaller wyvern howled as it lashed forward with its tail. The barbed tip struck the mariner’s thigh and Rig gasped and fell to his knees, his sword clattering on the stone.

The mariner fought back a scream as a jolt of pain raced from the barb and into his chest. Trails of fire and ice chased themselves up and down his frame, and he doubled over and shook uncontrollably.

“Fair not! Dark one mine!” the larger wyvern wailed as it edged by its companion and closed on Rig.

“Mine, too!” the smaller claimed, its tail swinging forward again, this time finding its mark in Rig’s shoulder. “Share! One with fire next!” It dodged a tendril of Palin’s flame, and whipped its barb at the mariner’s chest.

Rig couldn’t contain his scream this time. He writhed on the stone as alternating waves of heat and cold consumed him.

“Mine to eat.” The larger wyvern’s lips curled up in the approximation of a smile. Its snakelike neck dropped forward and its head angled toward the squirming mariner. It opened its jaws and then snapped upright as a shower of marbles pelted its snout.

“Leave Rig alone!” the kender shouted, reaching into her pouch to find more things to hurl. She filled her sling again and quickly sent a shower of buttons and shiny rocks at the wyverns. Then she rushed to Rig’s side and started tugging him out of the way.

“Hate sting!” the larger creature bellowed, its deep voice bouncing off the cavern walls. “Sting! Sting! Get tiny one!”

“Can’t!” the smaller growled. “Cave grab me! Move can’t!”

The stone, like molten lava, flowed away from Feril, around Palin and Rig and Blister, and oozed across the wyverns* taloned feet.

“Hard ” she urged it. “Be strong again.” Her sides heaved from the exertion, but she felt the rock responding, returning to its solid state. She pushed herself to her knees, shook her head to clear her senses, and watched as a bolt of Palin’s flame struck the largest wyvern. It engulfed the creature’s head, and in the close confines its screams were practically deafening. The smell of the wyvern’s burning flesh was overwhelming.

Palin, realizing the wyverns were no longer a threat, released his concentration on the orb and the flames died down.

The kender looked up at the larger wyvern’s face, and grimaced when she saw bits of bone showing through on its lower jaw. It continued to howl in agony and swing its tail toward them, but the kender and mariner were several inches beyond the reach of either wyvern now.

Palin edged forward and helped the mariner to his feet. The sorcerer glanced at Rig’s wounds, gently prodding the swollen area around them. “Some kind of poison, I think,” he said. “We should have brought Jasper with us. He’d know what to do.”

“What about them?” The kender stared up at the trapped wyverns.

“They’re abominations of nature,” Feril said. “They’ll die here. Let’s get going before the dragon comes.”

“No argument,” Rig said. He gritted his teeth as another wave of heat coursed through his limbs. It was followed by an intense chill that sent him into a fit of trembling. “I feel terrible.” He slumped, unconscious, against Palin.

“You’ll have to help me carry him,” Palin told the Kagon-esti. “Once outside we can—” The sorcerer’s words were cut off as a spear of lightning struck him squarely in the back and propelled him and the mariner several feet forward. A miniature thunderclap resounded as they landed on the sand-covered floor.

“Spawn!” Blister shouted, as she reached for her sling again.

Feril spun around in time to see the creature step from a shadow-draped tunnel deeper in the cavern. It had a manlike shape, and there was something haunting about its eyes. It was covered in tiny blue sapphire scales that shimmered in the light from Palin’s still-burning fire. A ridge of triangular-shaped scales ran from the top of its head down its back and to the tip of its short tail. Gently curving wings swept outward from between its shoulder blades. The creature flapped its wings slightly and rose a few feet above the cave floor.

Feril had encountered creatures like this weeks ago when she was with Dhamon. They weren’t easy to defeat.

“Get bad people!” the larger wyvern coaxed the spawn.

“Kill people!” the smaller urged.

The spawn grinned, revealing a pearl-white row of pointed teeth across which miniature lightning bolts flickered. Traces of lightning skittered along the claws on its hands and feet. It sped toward the Kagonesti.

At that moment Blister released her sling, showering the spawn with colorful bits of tile and metal. The creature was unhurt, but surprised, and it dropped to a crouch on the cave floor.

The Kagonesti used the precious seconds the kender had bought to dash toward Rig’s fallen cutlass. Her fingers dosed about the pommel just as she heard a second crackle of lightning. Blister screamed, and was thrown against the cavern wall by a bolt from the creature’s claws.

“Thing of evil!” the elf cried as she rushed toward the spawn. The weapon in her hand felt heavy, but she wielded it as she’d seen the mariner do, rushing forward and raising it above her head. She swept in close, then brought the sword down as hard as she could. The blade cut through the scales of the spawn’s shoulder blade. The creature’s arms flailed and lashed at her as she tugged the blade free.

This time she aimed for the creature’s neck, her blade flashing down and practically severing the thing’s head. It struggled for a moment, its eyes wide and unblinking, then it exploded in a ball of crackling lightning. Feril closed her eyes, but too late. Blinded and tingling uncomfortably all over, she stepped back, and felt about with her free hand, trying to find the wall of the cave.

“Blister, are you all right?” the Kagonesti called.

“No,” came the kender’s reply. “I hurt all over.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yes, but Palin and Rig can’t. I think they’re alive, but they’re not moving.”

“Keep talking,” Feril urged her. “I’ll follow the sound of your voice. You’ll have to help me drag them out of here.” She was beginning to see bits of color—the gray of the stone, the white sand, the red of Palin’s still-burning fire—but the colors were running together. “This isn’t going to be easy, Blister.”

The kender groaned. “Easy? Try impossible. They’re both awfully big.”

She tried to concentrate as she moved toward the kender, tried to bring everything into sharper focus. Then abruptly she froze, tilting her head. There was a sound of flapping wings, faint, but it was there, coming from behind her— deeper in the cave. She turned in time to see a smeared bolt of lightning arc toward her from a hazy patch of dark blue— another spawn. Four more blue splotches were behind it.

“Blister, run!” she cried as she dropped to her knees. A bolt of lightning shot over her head. Another spawn opened its maw, and again lightning crackled toward her. She pitched to the side, avoiding the bolt, and fell into the path of another spawn. The lightning struck her shoulder, and she was driven hard against the cave floor.

“Feril?” The kender took one last look at her fallen friends and the approaching spawn, and ran faster than she had ever run in her life.