“He does not deserve such distinction,” Malys said, shoving aside a bit of Skie’s bone and flesh with a disdainful toe. “Mad, that’s what he was. Insane. His skull would likely be a curse.” She glowered at the wound on her shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but the burned flesh stung and ached, the damage to the muscle was causing her front foreleg to stiffen. The wound would not impede her flying, however, and that was all that mattered.
Gathering up the skulls in her magical web, Malys prepared to depart. Before leaving, she sniffed the air, took one last look around. She had noticed something strange on her arrival—an odd smell. At first she’d been unable to determine the nature of the smell, but now she recognized it. Dragon. One of those Krynn dragons and, unless Malys was much mistaken, a Krynn metallic dragon.
Malys searched the chamber of Skie’s lair in which his body lay, but found no trace of a metallic dragon: no golden scales lying about, no silver scrapings on the walls. At length, Malys gave up. Her wound pained her. She wanted to return to the dark and restful sanctuary of her lair and build up her totem.
Holding fast to the web-encased skulls of the totem and favoring her wounded leg, Malys wormed her massive body out of the lair of the dead Blue and flapped off eastward.
5
The Silver Dragon and the Blue
Mirror remained in hiding until he was certain beyond doubt that Malys was gone and that she would not return. He had heard the battle, and he’d even felt pride in Skie for standing up to the heinous red dragon, experienced a twinge of pity at Skie’s death. Mirror heard Malys’s furious roar of pain, heard her rip apart Skie’s body. When he felt a trickle of warm liquid flow past his hand, Mirror guessed that it was Skie’s blood.
Yet now that Malys was gone, Mirror wondered what he would do. He put his hand to his maimed eyes, cursed his handicap. He was in possession of important information about the true nature of the One God. He knew what had become of the metallic dragons, and he could do nothing about any of it.
Mirror realized he was going to have to do something—go in search of food and water. The odor of dragon blood was strong, but through it he could just barely detect the scent of water. He used his magic to shift back to his dragon form, for his sense of smell was better in that form than this puny human body. He invariably looked forward to the shifting, for he felt cramped and vulnerable in the frail, wingless human form, with its soft skin and fragile bones. He flowed into the dragon’s body, enjoying the sensation as a human enjoys in a long, luxurious stretch. He felt more secure with his armored scales, felt better balanced on four legs than on two. He could see far more clearly, could spot a deer running through a field miles below him. Or, rather, I could have once seen more clearly, he amended.
His sense of smell now much more acute, he was soon able to find a stream that flowed through the cavernous lair.
Mirror drank his fill and then, his thirst slaked, he next considered easing his hunger pangs. He smelled goat. Skie had brought down a mountain goat and not yet had a chance to eat it. Once he quieted the rumblings of his belly, Mirror would be able to think more clearly. He hoped to avoid returning to the main chamber where the remnants of Skie’s body lay, but his senses told him that the goat meat he sought was in that chamber. Hunger drove Mirror back. The floor was wet and slippery with blood. The stench of blood and death hung heavy in the air. Perhaps it was this that dulled Mirror’s senses or perhaps the hunger made him careless. Whatever the reason, he was startled beyond measure to hear a voice, dire and cold, echo in the chamber.
“I thought at first you must be responsible for this,” said the dragon, speaking in the language of dragons. “But now I realize that I was wrong. You could not have brought down the mighty Skie. You can barely move about this cavern without bumping into things.”
Calling defensive magical spells to mind, Mirror turned his sightless head to face the unknown speaker—a blue dragon, by the sound of his voice and the faint scent of brimstone that hung about him. The blue must have flown in the main entrance to Skie’s lair. Mirror had been so preoccupied with his hunger that he had not heard him.
“I did not slay Skie,” said Mirror.
“Who did, then? Takhisis?”
Mirror was surprised to hear her name, then realized that he shouldn’t be. He was not the only one to have recognized that voice in the storm.
“You might say that. The girl called Mina wielded the magical bolt that brought about his death. She acted in self-defense. Skie attacked her first, claiming that she had betrayed him.”
“Of course she betrayed him,” said the Blue. “When did she ever do anything else?”
“I am confused,” said Mirror. “Are we speaking of Mina or Takhisis?”
“They are one and the same, to all intents and purposes. So what are you doing here, Silver, and why is the stench of Malys heavy about the place?”
“Malys took away Skie’s totem. Skie was mortally wounded, yet he still managed to defy her. He wounded her, I think, though probably not severely. He was too weak. She did this to him in retaliation.”
“Good for him,” growled the Blue. “I hope gangrene sets in and she rots. But you didn’t answer my first question, Silver. Why are you here?”
“I had questions,” said Mirror.
“Did you receive answers?”
“I did,” said Mirror.
“Were you surprised to hear these answers?”
“No, not really,” Mirror admitted. “What is your name? I am called Mirror.”
“Ah, the Guardian of the Citadel of Light. I am called Razor. I am”—the Blue paused and when he next spoke, his voice was heavy and tinged with grief—“I was the partner of Marshal Medan of Qualinesti. He is dead, and I am on my own now. You, being a Silver, might be interested to hear that Qualinesti has been destroyed,” Razor added. “The Lake of Death, the elves call it. That is all that is left of the once-beautiful city.”
Mirror was suspicious, wary. “I can’t believe this!”
“Believe it,” said Razor grimly. “I saw the destruction with my own eyes. I was too late to save the Marshal, but I did see the great, green dragon Beryl meet her death.” His tone held grim satisfaction.
“I would be interested to hear the account,” said Mirror.
The Blue chuckled. “I imagine you would. The elves of Qualinesti were warned of her coming, and they were ready for her. They stood on their rooftops and fired thousands of arrows at her. Attached to each arrow was cord that someone had strengthened with magic. The elves thought it was their magic, naturally. It wasn’t. It was her magic.”
“Takhisis?”
“Simply ridding herself of another rival and the elves at the same time. The thousands of strands of magical cord formed a net over Beryl, dragged her down from the skies. The elves planned to kill her as she lay helpless on the ground, but their plans went awry. The elves had worked with the dwarves, you see, to dig tunnels beneath the ground of Qualinesti. Many elves managed to escape through these tunnels, but, in the end, they proved to be Qualinesti’s undoing. When Beryl landed on the ground, her great weight caused the tunnels to collapse, forming a huge chasm. She sank deep into the ground. The waters of the White-Rage River left their banks and flowed into the chasm, flooding Qualinesti and turning it into a gigantic lake. A Lake of Death.”
“Beryl dead,” Mirror murmured. “Skie dead. The Qualinesti lands destroyed. One by one, Takhisis rids herself of her enemies.”
“Your enemies, too, Silver,” said Razor. “And mine. These overlords, as they call themselves, have slain many of our kind. You should rejoice in our Queen’s victory over them. Whatever you may think of her, she is the goddess of our world, and she fights for us.”