Margaret Weis - Elven Star

“Because, like our ‘savior’ said, we never learn.” Rega glanced behind her, wistfully, at the gleaming white walls, the sealed gate. “I think we might have, this time. I think it might have been different.”

The dragon’s head lowered; the four facing it could see themselves reflected in the eyes. Its foul breath, smelling of blood, was warm against their chilling bodies. They braced for the attack. Roland felt a soft kiss on his shoulder, the wetness of a tear touch his skin. He glanced back over his shoulder at Aleatha, saw her smile. Roland closed his eyes, praying for that smile to be his last sight.

Drugar did not turn around. He held the medallion superimposed over the blank spot on the gate. Dimly, he began to understand. As had happened when he was a child, the letters C … A … T were no longer letters to be recited individually by rote but were transformed before his eyes intoa small, furbearing animal.

Elated, transfixed by excitement, he broke the leather thong that held the medallion around his neck and lunged at the gate.

“I have it! Follow me!”

The others hardly dared hope, but they turned and ran after him. Jumping as high as he could, barely able to reach the bottom of the large round blank in the center, Drugar slammed the medallion against the surface of the gate.

The single sigil, the crude and simple rune that had been hung around the dwarf child’s neck, a charm to protect him from harm, came into contact with the tops of the runes carved upon the bottom of the gate. The medallion was small, barely larger than the dwarf’s hand, the sigil carved upon it smaller still.

The dragon struck at last. Roaring, it dove upon its victims. The sigil beneath the dwarfs hand began to glow blue, light welled up between stubby fingers. The light brightened, flared. The single rune increased in size, becoming as large as the dwarf, then as broad as a human, taller than the elf.

The sigil’s fire spread across the gate, and wherever the light of the rune touched another rune, that rune burst into flame. The flames expanded, the gate blazed with magical fire. Drugar gave a mighty shout and ran straight at it, shoving with his hands.

The gates to the citadel shivered, and opened.

“I thought they’d never figure it out!” stated the dragon in exasperation. “I took my time getting up there, then they made me wait and wait. There’s only so much slavering and howling one can do, you know, before it loses its effectiveness.”

“Complain, complain. That’s all you’ve done,” snapped Zifnab. “You haven’t said a word about my performance. ‘Fly, you fools!’ I thought I played that rather well.”

“Gandalf said it better?”

“Gandalf!” Zifnab cried in high dudgeon. “What do you mean, he said it ‘better’?”

“He gave the phrase more depth of meaning, more emotive power.”

“Well, of course he had emotive power! He had a Balrog hanging onto his skivvies! I’d emote, too!”

“A Balrog!” The dragon flicked its huge tail. “And I suppose I’m nothing! Chopped liver!”

“Chopped lizard, if I had my way!”

“What did you say?” the dragon demanded, glowering. “Remember, wizard, that you’re only my familiar. You can be replaced.”

“Chicken gizzard! I was discussing food. I’m extremely hungry,” said Zifnab hastily. “By the way, what happened to all the rest of ’em?”

“The rest of who? Chickens?”

“Humans! Elves, you ninny.”

“Don’t blame me. You should be more precise with your pronouns.” The dragon began to carefully inspect its glittering body. “I chased the merry little band up into the citadel where they were welcomed with open arms by their fellows. It wasn’t an easy task, mind you. Blundering through the jungle. Look at this, I broke a scale.”

“No one ever said-it would be easy,” said Zifnab, with a sigh.

“You’re right there,” agreed the dragon. His fiery-eyed gaze lifted, went to the citadel, shining on the horizon. “It won’t be for them, either.”

“Do you think there’s a chance?” The old man looked anxious.

“There has to be,” answered the dragon.

My Lord,

My ship is currently in flight above … below … through … (I hardly know how to describe it) the world of Pryan. The flight back to the four suns is long and tedious, and I have decided to take the time to record my thoughts and impressions of the so-called stars while they are still fresh in my mind. From my research gleaned in the Hall of the Sartan, I am able to reconstruct the history of Pryan. What the Sartan may have had in mind when they created this world (one wonders if they had anything on their minds!) is unknown. It is obvious to me that they arrived on this world expecting something other than what they found. They did their best to compensate, by building magnificent cities, shutting the mensch and themselves up inside, shutting the rest of the world out, and lying to themselves about the true nature of Pryan. All went well for a time, apparently. I would guess that the mensch—reeling from the shock of the disintegration of their world and the move to this one—had neither the inclination nor the energy to cause trouble-This state of peace passed rapidly, however. Generations of mensch came along who knew nothing about the terrible suffering of their parents. The citadels, no matter how big, would inevitably be too small to contain their greed and ambition. They fell to squabbling and feuding among themselves.

The Sartan, during this period, were interested solely in their own wondrous projects and did their best to ignore the mensch. Intensely curious about this project, I traveled into the heart of the crystal spire from which beamed the “star” light. I found there a huge machine, somewhat similar in design to the Kicksey-winsey that I discovered on the world of Arianus. This machine was much smaller and its function, as far as I was able to determine, is extremely different.

To describe it, I first put forth a theory. Having visited two of the four worlds built by the Sartan, I have discovered that each was imperfect. I also discovered that the Sartan were apparently trying to make up for the imperfections. Arianus’s floating continents need water. Abarrach’s Stone World (which I plan to visit next) needs light. The Sartan planned to supply these deficiencies by using energy drawn from Pryan—which has it in abundance. The four suns of Pryan are surrounded by stone that completely encases their energy. This energy is beamed down constantly onto the world surrounding the suns. The plants absorb the energy and transfer it down deep into the bedrock that supports them. I would estimate that the heat built up at this lower level must be incredible.

The Sartan constructed the citadels to absorb this heat. They dug deep shafts down through the vegetation into the rock. These shafts act as vents, drawing the heat off and expelling it back into the atmosphere. The energy is collected in a place known as the sanctuary, located in the center of the complex. A machine, running off the energy, transfers the power to the central spire, which in turn beams it out to the sky. The Sartan did not do this by themselves, but used their magic to create a race of powerful giants, who could work in the citadel. They called them tytans and gave them crude rune-magic, to help them in their physical labors.

I admit that I have no proof, but I submit to you, My Lord, that the other “stars” visible on Pryan are Hght—and-energy-gathering machines such as this one. It was the intention of the Sartan, as clearly explained in the writings left behind in the citadel, to use these machines to transmit the abundance of light and energy to the other three worlds. I read their descriptions of precisely how this feat was to be accomplished, but must confess to you. My Lord, that I can make little sense of what they propose. I brought the plans with me and I will turn them over to you so that you may study them at your leisure.