Jean Rabe - The Eve of the Maelstrom

“So dry,” she said, her voice faint. “Skin hurts. My eyes burn. So far from ocean home.” The Dimernesti looked up at the sky, her eyes blinking at each lightning stroke. Her pale blue nose quivered, and her lips turned down in a slight frown. A storm was brewing, but she could tell there would be no cleansing rain, only this dry, uncomfortable heat. “Stand a chance, I thought,” she continued. “When Brine died, thought more dragons could die.” Her pupils were wide, her hand clenched around the pommel of the sword Palin had given her, knuckles so pale they looked deathly white.

“There’s always a chance,” Usha said. “There’s—”

Suddenly the wind keened loudly, and the ground was rocked by thunder. Palin and the others swayed, struggling to keep from being pitched over the side of the mountain.

Malystryx was moving slow and stately. All dragon eyes were on her, all dragon heads lowered in respect.

“What’s happening?” Jasper whispered as he tried to peek around the rocks in front of him.

“Something,” Blister replied. “I think the red is going to summon Takhisis.”

Palin pursed his lips and eyed the dragons, trying to pick out the weakest. He wanted to launch a strike but realized they might have to fight all the dragons at once if they revealed themselves now. Gilthanas is right, he thought to himself, this is suicide. We haven’t the strength to defeat even one of them. Aloud, he whispered, “I don’t know what Malys is doing. But I think our time to act may be nearing. We should—”

Khellendros unleashed a bolt of lightning that struck the smooth surface of the plateau and blasted away chunks that harmlessly pelted the overlords’ thick hides. When the sulphurous smell and dust dissipated, the humans saw that the bolt had been directed near a rocky altar that stood alone in the midst of that vast space.

“The magical treasure,” Malys said, her thick, inhuman voice louder than the drumlike thunder, easily carrying above the howling wind. “Place it here.”

One by one, the dragons complied. Their great paws gently scooped up the arcane baubles and carefully placed them on the altar and around its base, oblivious to the people who watched.

“When?” Blister’s voice sounded fragile. “When do we... you know...” Her fingers touched the dagger pommels. “When—”

“Everything!” Malys cried. Her voice rocked the mountain, and the stone formations trembled. She threw back her head and opened her mouth, breathing a stream of fire high into the sky. Then her eyes widened, as she spied the silver and gold dragons descending, so high in the sky they looked like stars toppling toward the earth. The black, green, and blue dragons that had been circling rose to meet them. “Everything! Now!”

Save Khellendros, the dragon overlords worked faster. His paw slowly moved to his treasure pile, nudged the crystal keys, the Medallion of Faith.

A single medallion?

“Fissure!” the blue dragon spat the word so softly that Malys couldn’t hear it. He glanced behind him and saw a small gray shadow. He’d kept the huldre’s presence secret and brought him here, intending to use him to help open the portal when the propitious moment came. “The other medallion, faerie!”

The little gray man shrugged.

“Give it back,” the dragon hissed.

“I don’t have it.” The huldre returned Khellendros’s stare, his smooth face impassive.

Khellendros growled, casting his gaze around the arena. He nudged the keys closer to the altar, and also the lone medallion, keeping the lance at the edge of the treasure circle, near his wounded claw. All this time, he watched Malys.

“Too long has this world been without a dragon goddess!” Malystryx cried. The great red dragon reared back on her haunches, her neck stretched toward the heavens. “Too long has there been no undisputed power, no mighty voice setting the course of Ansalon. Now one has arisen. It is I, and I am all!”

“Malystryx!” Gellidus roared. The air shimmered white around him, as ice crystals spilled from between his jagged teeth and instantly melted in the hot air.

“The new Dark Queen!” Beryl and Onysablet cried practically in unison. Acid spilled from the Black’s jowls, hissing and popping and melting coins and bits of jewelry on the altar.

“The Dark Queen!” began a chant from the rest of the dragons. It was picked up almost as a whisper by the dragons waiting at the base of the plateau. Faint, almost imperceptible, the voices of men joined them.

Steam spiraled from the Red’s cavernous nostrils, and flames licked around her teeth. The tendrils of fire seemed to take on a life of their own. They looked like miniature red dragons sprouting from her vast, horrible mouth.

Palin Majere’s face paled. Somewhere, amid the leaping fires, his aching eyes seemed for a moment to see again the silver visage of the Shadow Sorcerer, who had betrayed them.

“What’s happening?” called Blister, her tiny voice almost lost amid the tumult of sky and mountain.

“It’s a spell,” replied Palin. His voice trembled. “She’s not summoning Takhisis. She thinks she is Takhisis!”

“But I always thought Takhisis was supposed to be beautiful,” persisted the kender. “Sounds to me as if Malys has gone funny in the head. Sounds to me...”

Palin hushed her with a gesture. “Now!” he urged his friends. “We must act now! We cannot wait for Gilthanas and Silvara! The silver and gold dragons are too far away and have the evil dragons above to contend with!” The sorcerer stood and pointed at Gellidus, drawing on the power of Dalamar’s ring, summoning his own fire. Bright red flames leapt from Palin’s scarred hands toward the white overlord.

The masking spell abandoned, their Knights of Takhisis guises ran off them like water. They stood revealed in their true forms.

“Now!” Palin shouted.

Gellidus’s chanting erupted in a howl as frosty scales melted beneath Palin’s artifact-powered blast of fire.

Rig and Fiona rushed forward, keeping under Palin’s fiery blast and charging at Gellidus. The young Knight of Solamnia had insisted on attacking this particular dragon, the one who held Southern Ergoth in his frigid grip and terrorized the people her knighthood had sworn to protect. And Rig had volunteered to help her.

Blister and Jasper wheeled toward Onysablet, the great Black, Veylona at their heels.

Groller charged Beryl, the green. For my wife, he thought, and for my daughter too. For the people of my village. Beryl had not been responsible, it was a smaller dragon, he knew. But this was a green one all the same, and the half-ogre was aided by Fury racing alongside him.

Usha began to move forward, but Palin clamped his right hand down on her shoulder. “Don’t try to protect me,” she said. Her long sword gleamed.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice faint. “I need you to protect me.

She instantly understood. He was the greatest threat to the dragons and would become their most likely target. “With my life,” she answered, raising the shield, hefting the sword, and waiting.

Dhamon was darting toward the center of the plateau, straight at the great red overlord. Feril was torn. She stared at Gellidus, the dragon who had ruined her homeland. She wanted to fight him with every fiber of her being. But her heart... Dhamon closed on Malys, alone. An instant later, however, Feril was behind Dhamon, focusing on the Crown of Tides and calling forth what little moisture was held in the air.

“Malystryx!” Dhamon roared. “You made me a murderer! You made me kill Goldmoon! You stole my life, damn you!”

The great red overlord glanced down and noted the presence of the detested human, the lowly man who had defied her and broken free of her control and kept the glaive. Moments ago she would have stopped anything to slay him. But moments ago she was merely a dragon. Now she was a goddess, a being beneath the pettiness of such revenge.