The Dragons

Chapter 19

2698 PC

A red dragon male was the first to hatch, and he proved to be the largest and most powerful of Crematia’s large brood. He grew with a quickness that astonished and delighted the venerable matriarch, displaying cruelty and malice, bullying his nestmates, and immediately asserting his superiority. Even as a wyrmling, he ate voraciously, once killing and devouring one of his weaker siblings when his mother had been slow to bring fresh food.

By the time he had entered his second century, Deathfyre was flying as swiftly as an eagle and bringing down prey that varied in size from young dwarves to the burly, spiral-horned rams that dared to graze in the heights of the Khalkists. He took a keen delight in killing and invariably tortured even the meanest of his prey with a deft cruelty that fascinated and impressed his savage matriarch.

By his two hundredth winter, Deathfyre had flown far beyond his mother’s lofty vales. Sometimes he returned with meat-even humans and elves fell to his cruel claws-and other times with rare treasures, or news. He mastered a tribe of minotaurs and brought new bands of ogres into the fold of Crematia’s gathering horde.

And in his third century, he returned with the bakali.

The craven lizard men swarmed in some stagnant fen in the lowlands. Deathfyre had demonstrated his power by slaying several of the tribe’s elite warriors, finally blinding the chieftain as a reminder of his superiority. Then he had ordered the bakali to march into the mountains, to gather beneath the red dragon lair on Darklady Mountain. Bearing their maimed and eyeless ruler-a great, spike-spined lizard with strapping shoulders and brawny arms-on a feather-draped litter, a file of savage warriors encamped around the steaming springs of the Khalkist valleys.

Crematia herself remained close to the lair, for her other hatchlings were not so strong nor so capable as Deathfyre. She tutored and trained them, punished every weakness or tendency toward mercy, rewarding cruelty, always demonstrating the efficacy of merciless violence.

Every hundred winters, she journeyed to the dwarven home, and twice since her first successful visit had she come away with a dragongem. Now, corresponding to the arrival of Deathfyre’s legion and the growing maturity of her other offspring, who numbered thirteen in all, the interval had passed again, and it was time to collect the last gem, the blackstone.

Her proud son accompanied her, the two dragons winging eastward through smoking, ash-laden skies. Deathfyre was already two-thirds of Crematia’s own serpentine length, with the black mane of an adult bristled in a steadily thickening thatch around his cruel jowls. He was a strong, swift flyer, and the scarlet matriarch shivered with a thrill of pride. She admired his sleek frame, the sinewy muscle rippling beneath the crimson perfection of his scales.

Arriving over the dwarven vale, Crematia wasn’t surprised to see that all the dwarves had once again taken shelter within their underground lair by the time she and Deathfyre settled toward the ground. She bade her son to remain watchfully back from the gates, then stalked forward with her crimson head held high. The great red dragon had already resolved upon at least one thing: After the dwarven king gave her this last stone, he would have no more hold over her, and thus she would slay him as just punishment for his past insolences.

Unfortunately the wretched delvers had apparently anticipated her intent, for this time, no berobed dwarf emerged to present her with the gem. Instead, a small hatch in the base of the gate swung open, and a sphere of perfect blackness rolled forth. Momentum carried the stone to Crematia’s feet, and by the time she looked back at the gate, the hatch had slammed shut and she heard the sound of metal bolts being drawn.

She opened her mouth and belched a searing cloud of fire against the gates, taking minimal satisfaction from the slick surface of melted stone, the scorched blackness that now ringed the city’s entryway. Changing shape with a twinkling of magic, Crematia stood in the flesh of a tall human woman, her body a shape of slender curves and flowing red hair clad in a gown of shimmering green. She reached down and picked up the blackstone, then turned back to Deathfyre.

A volley of arrows arced from small gaps in the mountainside, but the few that reached her merely bounced from the green silk and fell to the ground. She laughed, the sound a gaily trilling chime, as she strolled casually up to the red serpent, reaching upward to caress her scion’s shoulder with a slender human hand.

“They seek to spite me,” Crematia declared in amusement, turning to regard the concealed dwarves with a coy, even playful, smile. She gestured with her other hand, to the lush fields of grain and fruit, terraced fields covering the gently sloping mountainside in every direction.

“I told them to expect no mercy from me. But perhaps they did not believe me. Now, my bold son, show them that we know the meaning of spite as well as they.”

For a long day, the young red dragon frolicked through the croplands, scorching with his breath, rending with talons, crushing with the wallowing weight of his great body. Crematia sat with the relaxed dignity of an amused lady, reclining in the shade of a great oak tree, occasionally tasting of some melon or grape brought to her by Deathfyre.

Once she rose and strolled tauntingly before the great gates. She laughed as arrows arced toward her, skipped nimbly out of the path of some of the missiles. Others she transformed into harmless flowers with a flick of her hand, or dissolved into sparks with a snap of her fingers. Always she taunted the dwarves, waving at them, summoning them to come out in a cooing, playful voice.

Only when the harvest had been thoroughly mauled, grain burned or crushed into mud, fruit squashed and broken, trees of ancient orchards snapped into kindling, did Crematia shift back to the body of her serpentine self. In the waning light of dusk, the two dragons took wing, coursing through the skies, vanishing into the shadowy gorges of the high Khalkists. Flying under moonlit skies, they soon left the ruined dwarven realm far behind. As she flew, the ancient female relished the memory of thousands of dwarven eyes, glaring with impotent hatred at the leisurely departure of their omnipotent enemies.

Returning to the valley of fire that half encircled Darklady Mountain, the two dragons found their legions of bakali and ogres eagerly waiting. For many seasons, the monstrous warriors had been gathering here, training and learning and worshiping their mighty crimson mistress. Now that the dragons had flown to retrieve the last dragongem, the troops knew that at last the period of waiting was almost done. Masses of troops thronged across the ground, shouting accolades and hoarse cheers, whooping in raw delight as the pair of serpents flew overhead, bellowing and snorting flames.

The mighty reds came to rest on a flat shelf of rock at the foot of the lofty peak, a natural stage where they could rise above their assembled horde. The promontory and its two illustrious occupants were visible from across the entire floor of the valley. Deathfyre bristled in stiff-winged pride while Crematia lifted her supple neck, raising her head far above the gathered horde.

This was an area naturally lighted by the fiery rivers of lava flowing down the Darklady’s slopes and from gouts of flame and bubbling rock that frequently erupted from fissures on the valley floor. Yet now the ogres augmented the illumination, igniting great bonfires before the raised platform so that the two mighty red dragons were brightly lit in angry, surging flames, their crimson bodies slick and alight in the brightness cast by the massive pyres.

Crematia reared still higher, clutching the blackstone in her claws and raising it above the lustily cheering mass. Her twelve lesser offspring brayed and roared, adding their accolades to the wave of noise.

Finally four bakali shamans who had demonstrated remarkable talent-and great loyalty to Deathfyre-came forward. The lizard men priests, like the rest of their kind, were lean and supple creatures, marked by protruding muzzles and low, sloping brows. Forked tongues darted from fanged jaws, while heavy tails stretched behind, lending balance to the strangely dainty walk of the monstrous warriors.

Each of three bakali shamans carried a single dragongem of green, white, or blue. The fourth knelt before the still-upraised Crematia, tilting its snakelike head, leaning far backward to balance on its outflung tail.

The dragon abruptly dropped to her belly, crimson scales stopping a hairsbreadth short of smashing the shaman to the ground, a blow that would have certainly broken the wretched creature’s spine. Yet the bakali remained faithfully rigid, singing the praises of the mighty red wyrm. Pleased, Crematia gave it the blackstone.

All four of the stone-bearing bakali marched between Crematia and Deathfyre, then started up the steep slope of the mountainside. Each clutched its stone in one taloned foreclaw, with the other hand pulling upward to aid in the long ascent. Crematia watched for a long time, relishing the awestruck silence of the legions gathered behind her as they, too, observed the four shamans gradually disappear into the darkness and haze of the heights.

“Fly with me, my children!” cried Crematia, taking to the air with a downblast of wind. She soared low over a sea of bakali and ogres and was lifted, borne aloft by the force of their relentless cheers. Behind the crimson matriarch, Deathfyre and the other red dragons took wing, following their mistress in an awe-inspiring flight over the massed army. Red wings filled the sky, like deadly awnings spreading above the rumbling horde.

Gradually the serpents climbed until they, like the lizard men shamans, had disappeared from the view of the legions on the ground. Even so, as she looked down, Crematia could still see the raging bonfires and the jagged streaks of the lava rivers crossing the valley floor. But now her eyes turned skyward as she strove steadily through the night. The air was warm, tainted with sulfurous gases from the bowels of Krynn. Often she tasted the metallic taint of copper or iron, solids rendered into vapor by the heat within Darklady Mountain.

Finally the lofty summit was there, emerging from the murk, the rim of the crater a sharp-edged circle in the sky. Crematia and her young came to rest along the crest, facing the plunging shaft, feeling the infernal heat baking against their faces and breasts. The giant matriarch loomed over them all, with mighty Deathfyre rising large to one side. The lesser serpents of her wyrmlings perched, still and patient, to either side along the rim of the Darklady’s crater.

For a long time, Crematia made them wait, knowing the bakali would climb the mountain slowly. She watched carefully, and when Hodyo showed signs of slinking back from the inferno, she seared the end of his tail with a blast of breath, then sneered as he nearly toppled forward in a panicked effort to escape.

“Show strength, my dragons! Welcome the Darklady’s heat! Fire is your spirit and your soul, and it shall not harm you-it sustains and renews. Remember, never show weakness!”

Finally she discerned a glowing brightness down the mountainside, soon recognizing the illumination of the whitestone. The green and blue were next to appear, and she had located all four of the bakali shamans before she found the sleek, inky perfection of the blackstone.

Though the lizard men had labored throughout the long night on an ascent that few, if any, landbound creatures had ever attempted before, they showed only eagerness as they reached the rim of the mighty crater, kneeling on the stony crest, two to each side of Crematia. The mountain rumbled, waves of heat blasting upward, billowing clouds of smoke and ash roiling in the bottomless depths.

“Splendid work, my shamans… You have earned our queen’s pleasure.”

The bakali shivered, their faces pressed abjectly to the ground. Each clutched its dragongem tightly to its scaly chest as the grumbling in the mountain grew to a palpable tremor. Fire roared, and ash swirled through the air like stinging needles of hot sleet.

“See, my children… she rises to show her magnificence.”

Now the bakali and the dragons looked toward the massive crater, where the billowing clouds of smoke had evolved into five distinct pillars. The central, and mightiest, was lit by an internal stream of flaming gas, glowing brightly with a crimson light. The columns of smoke on either side writhed and twisted like lesser snakes, alternately pale or dark, while the red central pillar rose even higher, spuming flame and ash into the sky.

“Now, shamans- jump! ” Crematia barked her command, head rearing back to insure that each of the bakali obeyed.

Her precaution was unnecessary. At the command, each of the shamans leapt exultantly from the rim of the crater, clutching its dragongem worshipfully as it vanished into the gulf of fire and smoke. Immediately the mountain roared, waves of heat and light bursting into the sky.

“Now fly, my children! Take wing with me!” The mighty red took to the air, the thirteen younger serpents following. They circled the lofty summit, fighting their way through churning clouds of roiling air, watching as more and more convulsions rocked the Darklady.

“Deathfyre, fly to the valley. Lead the army away to the south,” commanded Crematia as sections of rock slipped away from the summit, tumbling in landslides toward the lowlands masked by smoke and dust.

The red male swept away, and the matriarch turned her attention back to the mountain, secure in the knowledge that her scion would lead the army to safety. For a long time, the great summit rumbled and shook, firing clouds of debris into the air. Even as sunrise illuminated the sky, this remained a region of perpetual shadows. The red dragons circled through the murk, wyrmlings flying behind their mighty matriarch, glimpsing the shuddering, conical peak through gaps in the swirling smoke.

Abruptly the top of the mountain exploded, the force of the blast sending even mighty Crematia reeling through the skies. She plunged downward and away, pulling herself out of the dive and guiding her nestlings-except Deathfyre-back toward the shattered summit.

But now there was more than smoke and ash roiling through the air. Crematia’s heart pounded at a glimpse of blue wing slicing through the edge of the cloud, at a green tail that flickered into sight, then vanished. Then scaly shapes passed to all sides, giant serpentine bodies borne by leathery wings.

At last the slopes of Darklady Mountain tumbled away, shattered by convulsive explosions, wracked by mighty destruction. Lava surged into the air, gouts of liquid rock sizzling through the clouds, splattering against the heaving ground below. Rocks as big as Crematia’s wing floated past, tossed like marbles by the violent pressure of the dying mountain.

The pressure of noise shook the air with thunderous force, but the crimson matriarch exulted in the violence, knowing that the convulsions were nothing less than the power of the Dark Queen. More of the summit was blasted into dust, and she brayed loudly, a shrill cry of delight.

One whole shoulder of the massive peak sloughed away, thundering downward in an avalanche of dust, gravel, and flaming debris. More slopes fell, some collapsing inward, others falling out, sliding with glacial power into the smoldering, trembling valleys below. Colors flashed within that roiling murk, here a patch of white and blue, there a blur of green, a smudge of perfect black.

Then they were all around, filling the skies, crying deep challenges and exulting in freedom after long centuries of confinement. The chromatic dragons of the Dark Queen, released from their prisons in the dragongems, swept away from the mountain that had now collapsed into three lesser, but still mighty, summits. The wyrms of Takhisis bellowed their joy at their freedom and roared with rage at the thought of vengeance that had been too long denied.

“Fly, my kin-dragons!” cried Crematia. “Take wing with me to the south, where our armies march-and where we shall take our revenge against the elven lands!”