The Dragons

Chapter 42

352 AC

Allsar Dane’s life seemed to have lasted but an eyeblink of time, a fact that Lectral found curiously saddening. He looked at the pallid, drained features of the knight, saw where Ariakas’s mighty sword had pierced the armor and the flesh of Dane’s back. The blade had torn through the metal plate, puncturing the body to a relatively shallow depth, at least by the standard of a dragon’s wound.

Yet in a man, it had been enough to be lethal.

After landing, the silver dragon changed shape, but only long enough to shrug out of his saddle, to release the slain knight’s buckles and armor, and to lay him in state on a low hillside, overlooking a lake of pure, clear water. Eyes closed as if in slumber, the knight’s face was gray and pallid. To Lectral, it suddenly seemed to look very old.

Again silver scales gleamed as the mighty dragon assumed his true shape. Sadly Lectral scooped a grave in the rocky ground of the Khalkist shale, remembering his first reluctant acquaintance with this brave man.

“Ah, my friend, you were a worthy foe for Tombfyre, and for the Dark Queen herself, whether they knew it or not.”

Gently the silver dragon lifted the limp body and laid it in the grave. With a few scoops of his massive forelegs, Lectral poured dirt and gravel over the motionless shape until the grave was a slightly mounded spot atop the low hill. He patted and smoothed the surface for a long time, wanting to insure that the surface was perfect.

With a shimmering of magic, the mighty silver shape contracted, faded to a mundane gray, and rose to stand upon two feet. The figure of a proud knight stood beside the burial site, head bowed, hands clasped before his armored chest as he remembered the brave warrior’s last moments.

“O Platinum Father,” murmured Lectral. “Please see that this courageous Knight of the Crown receives the honors due a hero of Paladine… and know that he will be missed, by humans and dragons alike. By the Oath and the Measure, he fought well and died as a hero.”

Fighting a curious twinge of emotion that thickened his throat and misted his eyes, Lectral looked to the placid lake just below the hill. Many ripples spread across the surface, marking the feeding of numerous trout as they snatched flies and water bugs from the surface.

He wondered idly if they were rainbows. He hoped they were, for that trout had been Allsar Dane’s favorite.

“Good fishing, my friend,” murmured the silver dragon, once again a gleaming serpent.

With a respectful nod, Lectral spread his wings to catch the mountain breeze, gliding low over the sparkling blue waters, then stroking powerfully upward to soar above the encircling ridge. Gusts of wind swirled, lifting him higher, but he used his strength to hasten his ascent, no longer content to ride the breeze like some carrion-hunting bird.

He thought of Silvara and Heart, of their talk of love. Surely that was not an emotion for dragons… but was it true that it could be learned? Is that what he felt now, the emotion that was causing him such grief? Perhaps it was true that a dragon, a young dragon at any rate, could in fact learn to love.

Perhaps, in fact, that was the silvers’ unique gift to the clans of their kin-dragons. It was the counterpart to the learned reflection and the magical mastery of the golds, the genial sociability of the brass or the stolid strength of the bronzes. Even the vengeful coppers had shown that, through the ages, there was a need for violence and fury, and the clan of Cymbol had borne that torch bravely and well.

And for the silvers, was it their place to show the kin-dragons the value, even the mere existence, of love? Perhaps that and, of course, to embody the pure beauty of flight, the thing that the silvers did so much better than any of the other metallic dragons.

Lectral considered the question. His life was his flying-that was the thing that gave him the purest joy. Indeed, if there were such a thing as love, perhaps flight was its purest expression. Finding himself among the heights again, he didn’t lapse into a leisurely glide. Instead, he strived like a youngster, pulling great scoops of air with each powerful beat of his wings, lifting himself higher than the surrounding ridges, vying for the altitude that was the province of the high peaks of the range.

He knew the other silvers were dispersed, hunting perhaps, or waiting for word of the night’s developments. The evil dragons had fled from the skies over Kalaman and the plains, falling back to the twisted fortress that Lectral had glimpsed during his pursuit of Tombfyre. No doubt they still circled there, anxiously awaiting the arrival of their queen.

A ram bleated, with a clatter of rocks, and Lectral looked up to see the creature skipping with uncanny precision along a lofty cliff. But something else moved above it, and in the instant of that awareness, he threw himself forward, wings extended to catch an immediate lift.

Tombfyre appeared seemingly from nowhere, attacking with a blast of fire that cruelly seared Lectral’s tail. The silver dragon careened wildly down the mountainside, avoiding craggy outcrops, barely airborne. A crimson shape swept past, roaring in triumph and glee.

What a fool I was! Lectral rebuked himself furiously. He had been alone and careless, lost in his pathetic musings, making a splendid opportunity for a vicious and implacable enemy. If not for the bleating of the frightened mountain sheep, the battle would have ended at once-a fatal ambush leading to a solitary and anonymous kill.

Struggling for equilibrium, Lectral saw the ground whirling upward and knew he was about to crash into the mountainside. With a quick word of magic, he teleported high into the sky, pulling out of his spin as Tombfyre roared a fiery ball of frustration below.

But then the red dragon disappeared, and the silver whirled in sudden alarm, ready for a magical attack from above or behind. There was no sign of Tombfyre anywhere in the sky, until Lectral cast another spell, one that allowed him to see objects masked by a spell of invisibility. His enemy stood clearly revealed, the mask of magic ripped away as the red dragon strived higher and higher through the air.

Replying in kind, Lectral blinked out of sight behind a spell of his own invisibility. Tilting his wings, he angled toward the infuriated red. From the fixed nature of Tombfyre’s glaring eyes, the silver knew that his enemy wasn’t fooled by the spell. No doubt Tombfyre, too, possessed the ability to detect objects concealed by invisibility magic.

The silver dragon circled at a lofty height, as high as he had ever flown before. He watched the red laboring through the thin air, striving to reach him, and once more Lectral knew the pure joy of soaring even above the birds. He felt a serene sense of calm, knowing now that this was a proper destiny for him and his clan.

Finally Tombfyre reached that great altitude, and the two dragons swept together, jaws gaping, widespread wings sweeping forward in a mutual but deadly embrace. Combined roars echoed like thunder from the surrounding heights while the serpents rushed toward a violent merging.

No longer would Lectral try to evade his archenemy; neither would he flee nor give chase. They would meet here, a mile or more above the mountaintops, and they would resolve a fight that had been waged over thousands of years. Here, now, it would be finished.

Lectral filled his lungs, started his blast of frost as he saw the first tongues of flame erupt from Tombfyre’s horrible maw. A blast of cold and fire mingled with thunderous force as the two ancient wyrms smashed together. Tombfyre’s fireball encircled Lectral, while the blast of frost exploded outward to envelop the hateful crimson wyrm. Locked in a clench of claw and fang and serpentine tails, the pair of monstrous fliers plummeted downward.

Lectral was sorely hurt, and he knew his wings had been seared beyond their ability to carry him in flight. His enemy, too, had been crippled by the deadly expulsion. The silver dragon clenched his jaws tightly over Tombfyre’s throat, preventing any sound, any attempt at spellcasting that the red dragon might make. Silver talons punctured scarlet scales, ripping into the red dragon’s flesh, clutching him in a merciless embrace.

Tombfyre squirmed frantically, desperate now as he sensed his enemy’s intention. Wind whistled past their scales, soothing the burned flaps of Lectral’s wings as the ground suddenly seemed to rush upward with blurring, reckless speed.

At the last moment, Tombfyre made a frantic twist, a final, desperate try to escape. But Lectral just pulled him closer, and together they completed their final dive, merging with terrible violence into the world of their ancestors.