Jean Rabe - Dragons of a New Age

The red dragon’s massive claw raked his side. The talons slashed through his thick dark scales and dug into the softer flesh beneath. Then another claw pinned him to the ground and threatened to pierce his ribs.

“Takhisis, my queen!”

The black dragon’s blood flowed from the wound. He cried in surprise and pain, struggling futilely beneath the weight. Through a haze of tears he looked up, his eyes locking onto hers, pleading with her, questioning.

Her immense head filled his vision as it bore down on him. And the smell of her breath was hot and sulphurous like the fire that was now raging in the forest.

She opened her mouth, and her enormous tongue snaked out to touch the tip of his nose, then retreated to lick her lips.

“No!” the black screamed. “Takhisis would not slay one of her own!” He summoned all his strength and fought to budge the claw that held him to the ground. But the black couldn’t move, the red was too massive.

“Please!” he cried as he gasped for air. “Please!” he called again, surprised to hear such a human word escape his jaws, but desperate to make himself heard.

The black’s heart beat frantically in his chest and his back legs jerked spasmodically. He tried desperately to find purchase in the mud, something his claws could grasp to serve as an anchor and keep him away from her. He swiveled his head about, and breathed a stream of his acid. The acid splashed against the side of the red dragon’s head and made a sickening popping noise. Her jaws relaxed their grip, and the black launched himself away.

He was stopped by a paw that slammed down on his tail. Another slammed against his rump, then he felt sharp teeth close over the ridge on his back. He felt himself being lifted. The red carried him toward the beach and threw him down harshly. Laying in a heap, the black had little energy left. He labored to rise, and almost succeeded, but the red’s lengthy tailed whipped about and struck him soundly across the snout, stunning him.

He concentrated, hoping to summon one final stream of acid—something, anything that might drive her off so he could rise above the cliff and escape into the trees. He was so much smaller than she, perhaps he could hide among the ancient willows. He opened his maw, breathed, but only a rivulet of acid rose from his throat. It sloshed onto the sand. The red’s jaws loomed closer, sank deep into the black’s throat, and she began to feast.

The dawning sun found the shore of the Misty Isle. None of the verdant forests remained—only charred, broken remains that stretched upward at twisted, odd angles. The red had destroyed everything.

Yawning, the great dragon rose from the beach, stretched, and shook off her sleep. Last night’s meal of the big black lizard gave her some energy and she had feasted on a herd of deer, though they had been so small.

But she was still ravenous—and disturbed. Had she imagined the black lizard talking to her? Calling her... what was the word... Takhisis? Had she dreamed the words? Or had the lizard really spoken? In a fit of privation had she dined on a sentient reptile?

She glanced at the tide pool where she had left the lizard’s head and a few of its rib bones. The carcass looked different in the morning light. She was able to make out more of the subtleties. The great red shuddered. It wasn’t the head of a large black lizard that lay at a grotesque angle against the slope. It was the head of a black dragon.

How could her hunger have blinded her so, made her devour a baby, a hatchling? Padding to the water’s edge, she glanced at her own scowling visage. She noted that a few of the scales near her jaw were melted and distorted from the baby black’s acid breath.

She reached a claw up and dug the blemished scales loose. They fell on the sand with dull thuds. She grimaced. Others would grow to take their place, and she would be beautiful again, but it would take a few weeks.

At least it was a black, an inferior dragon, she told herself, trying to mollify her conscience somewhat. Blacks aren’t as smart as reds. If it had been smart, it wouldn’t have waited for her on the plain.

What had it meant when it called her Takhisis? What did the word mean?

By the time the sun had reached its zenith, the red dragon was high in the sky, the ruins of Misty Isle far below her. The island seemed small, like the black dragon had been small.

Maybe she should go back home. She didn’t care for the brutish company of the other reds, but perhaps she would try to put up with them again. She could force herself. One more try. She hated this sensation of hunger. Raising a wing, she banked toward home.

“You cannot leave.”

The red’s eyes focused on the swirling gray image of a tiny man that hovered in the air before her. She drew her wings back and squinted so she could see him better. He looked like a shadow, which shouldn’t be possible given the brightness of the morning sun. His eyes were unblinking crimson dots. Not a man, she decided. But what?

The red hissed. Steam rose from her nostrils, the wispy tendrils curling like chimney smoke and drifting toward the clouds overhead. Her lips twisted upward and she snarled. She could eat him, but he was so small her belly would scarcely acknowledge the offering. It would hardly be worth the effort of swallowing.

“What are you?” she growled.

“I am a daemon warrior, a creation of the all-father Chaos,” the shadow man answered. “I will have my revenge against the mortals who caused my father to leave Krynn. And you will be my means of achieving it.” The shadowy image grew horns and darkened itself to a glossy black shade.

The creature should be begging for mercy, the red thought. Instead he was shifting his form and chatting with her as if she were his friend. She had no friends.

“Where are you from?” The warrior’s voice was gravelly and at the same time hollow, like an echo. “You are not from Ansalon, and you have not been here long. Someone would have noticed a dragon your size before. Heroes would have been dispatched to slay you. Are there more like you?”

The red narrowed her eyes to thin slits and glowered at him. A lick of flame flickered out between her pointed teeth. “My homeland is none of your concern,” the dragon finally answered.

“But where you are going is. You must go toward Ansalon, not away from it. You must kill them all, but not all at once. They must be made to fear for their lives, realize they are all doomed. They must wait inexorably for the end.”

“They?”

“The people,” the shadow man replied. “The humans and elves. The dwarves, gnomes, kender.”

“Enough!” A growl sounded from deep in the dragon’s chest. She opened her mouth and fire raced out of it, cutting through the crisp morning air and forming a great ball of searing flame. The fire rushed toward him, roaring and crackling, then it parted just inches before reaching him. It flowed like water around him and joined again behind his back.

“I am a creature of fire, sired in the Abyss. Flames cannot touch me, no matter how intense.” The daemon warrior displayed glowing eyes like hot coals. “Now listen to me. Down there is the Misty Isle, the island you slept on last night and treated as so much kindling. To the north is Kothas, perched on the edge of the Blood Sea of Istar.”

The dragon glared at him, a hint of curiosity creeping across her huge visage. She decided to listen to him just a little bit longer.

“Kothas is not so important as the rest of the world,” the daemon warrior continued. “Neither are Mithas and Karthay. But the Dairly Plains...” The glow of the shadow man’s eyes softened. “There are herds of cattle to satisfy your appetite, villages ripe for terrorizing, and there are smaller dragons.” Does he know about the black? she wondered.