Stronger from the red’s absorbed energies, the shadow dragon resumed his course. As the minutes passed, the mountains seemed to shrink, and in the distance he spied the verdant greenery of Onysablet’s swamp. And there, practically between the mountains and the foothills, where the steamy mists of the jungle lay thick, a jagged fang jutted defiantly into the sky. It was ringed by lean-tos and crude huts—ant hills crawling with life.
The despoilers milled about, unsuspecting. Dressed in black plate mail despite the heat, the Knights of Takhisis gathered outside a large building. The clang of metal, evidence of an ongoing fight, cut through the air. Men and women stood behind the knights, curious about what was transpiring inside the building, wanting to catch a glimpse of the combatants. A dwarf and a kender, kneeled and peered through the armored men’s legs.
Too close. Their fault. Could not be helped.
The dragon drew his wings to his sides and dove, creating a shadow on the ground that grew as he neared.
“You heard me, Grimwulf! Finish him!” came an imperious voice from inside the building. The shadow dragon’s senses picked up that lone voice with a commanding air. No others spoke when this voice sounded. “Finish him!”
The shadow dragon opened his mouth, releasing a cloud of blackness on the black dressed knights below. The cloud descended on them, smothered them, as it smothered the innocent bystanders, robbing them of sight and energy.
Screams filled the air, shouts of shock, terror, disbelief. The shadow dragon watched as knights and commoners alike scurried blindly away from the cold blanket of suffocating air he created. They crashed into each other and ran into their crude homes. A few stumbled headlong into Onysablet’s swamp. Foolish ants.
The dragon dropped closer, picking out his armor-clad targets. His claws sought out the knights one by one.
Inside the building, Commander Jalan heard the first screams and wheeled around to glimpse the impenetrable blackness as it fell beyond the doorway. She drew back, pulled her sword, and called to her closest men.
Behind her, Dhamon Grimwulf felt the weight of the burning glaive in his hands. The ever-present red dragon in his mind faded, and he stared at the man before him. “Run!” he cried. The Solamnic spy cradled his stump, acting dazed. “Run!”
The spy paused for only a moment more. Then, meeting Dhamon’s wide-eyed stare, he staggered toward the back of the building. Boards had been hastily peeled back to create an exit. Sunlight streamed through the opening. He took a last look over his shoulder at Dhamon, then stepped through.
Dhamon breathed a sigh of relief. Behind him Commander Jalan cursed. Dhamon searched his mind for the dragon and found no trace. He took a tentative step toward the back of the building.
Still there was no countercommand from the dragon. A trick? Dhamon wondered. One more trick of the dragon’s to let him think he was free? Salvation was beyond him, he realized, now that he had drawn Solamnic blood. He was eternally damned. But where was the dragon presence? He took another awkward step. Was this one more game the dragon would end by pulling his puppet strings?
Dhamon considered dropping the glaive and running. Maybe the dragon intended Commander Jalan to take it now. The screams outside made him grit his teeth, and then he saw the Commander square her shoulders and step into that ominous blackness.
Dhamon Grimwulf shouldered the weapon and quietly slipped to the back, ducking through the opening and stepping into the light.
Foothills stretched to the east, and nearby he saw a pass through the mountains. Not the pass, he decided; it would be too easy for someone to follow him. He glanced about for signs of the villagers or Solamnic sympathizers. There was blood on the ground, a trail. Dhamon ignored it, darting instead toward the foothills. Clambering up moss-covered rocks, he took a last glance at the village, seeing the cloud of darkness. He glimpsed what looked like a long black tail flicking out of it and heard the horrible screams and the clang of metal. The Knights of Takhisis were battling something inside the darkness. The cloud looked too small to cover Onysablet. Perhaps it draped one of her minions.
He struggled up the rough terrain of the Blöde foothills and made his way toward the mountains. The dragon voice was gone.
The shadow dragon had had its fill. It had slain all but one Knight of Takhisis. Only Commander Jalan remained. The dragon knew only that she was an important leader, given the decorations on her armor. She must also have rare courage to confront him.
The commander walked forward, blinded by the cloud, stumbling over the few bodies the dragon had not yet swallowed. She waved her sword before her, slowly, searching for her unseen foe.
The shadow dragon studied her determined face for but a moment. Then it flapped its wings to soar above the cloud of blackness. The cloud would dissipate within a few heartbeats, though the woman would remain blind for longer than that. He would leave her be, the lone survivor, to tell her red dragon mistress of the triumphant assault. Survivors were necessary; otherwise there would be no accounts of his great deeds.
The dragon banked away from the village, coasting over the foothills of Blöde, heading toward the mountains. He watched for shadows, eventually finding one to his liking that was halfway up a peak. Gliding toward it, he discovered the narrow mouth of a cave, whose interior shadows were thick and pleasing. His dark form shimmered, shrinking just enough to let him pass beyond the opening and into the welcome embrace of the shadows beyond. Time to rest, he decided, to savor his successes and make his plans. He closed his dark eyes.
Hours later, he opened them. Within the cave resounded the footfalls of an intruder.
8
A Matter of Timing
“Where you heading, Ulin?” Blister stood in the hallway, feet spread wide, blocking Ulin’s path. The curving passage high in the Tower of Wayreth was narrow, and though Blister was small, there was no easy way to get around her.
Ulin shifted the leather pack on his back and gestured with his head, indicating she should move to the side.
She didn’t. “Where you going?” she persisted.
“Away.”
“Away where? Home to your wife?”
“Just away, Blister. I don’t know where yet.” The mage ran his free hand through his chestnut hair and stared down at the determined kender. “Away from here,” he added evenly.
“Need some company? I could tag along. It’s getting boring around here.”
“Not this time.”
“Palin and Usha know you’re going?”
He let out a long sigh and nodded. “Yes. Of course. I told them. I’m a grown man, Blister. I can do what I want, go where I want.”
“But the dragons and everything. Rig and Feril and...”
“I’m leaving with a dragon. Sunrise.” The younger Majere had met the dragon when he journeyed with Gilthanas to the icy land of Southern Ergoth. Sunrise taught him how to draw on a dragon’s essence to enhance spells. The first time Ulin tried the technique, more than a month ago, was during the battle with Khellendros on Schallsea Island. He hadn’t yet mastered the ability, and he longed to do so. He always hungered for more where magic was concerned. “So you’re leaving with a good dragon, a gold one. Lucky you. But I’m worried about the evil ones.”
“So am I. And so is Sunrise.”
“So you should be helping us—and your father.”
Ulin drew his lips into a thin line, closing his eyes for a moment. “I don’t have time for this conversation, Blister. Sunrise is waiting outside, and time is slipping away. There’s nothing more I can do here to help.”
“Then maybe you and Sunrise should be flying after Gilthanas. Silvara took him to...”