Jean Rabe - Dragons of a New Age

The green regaled Malys with tales he had heard of how the Dark Queen carefully deployed her charges—loyal dragons and unwitting human pawns dubbed Knights of Takhisis—in every country on Krynn. She waited for the proper moment to order a strike and then hoped to bring all of the land under her control.

“But the Irda ruined her plans. They somehow thought the Graygem would better serve them if it was shattered. They thought with its power released, the outside world would leave them alone,” the green sneered. “They didn’t know the power inside was Chaos.”

“So Takhisis’s plan to rule Krynn ended because the gem broke?” Malys asked.

“Once freed, Chaos intended to keep his pledge to destroy the world. If our Dark Queen did nothing to stop him, she would have nothing left to rule. So she, and the less powerful gods who agreed to cooperate with her, challenged him. Chaos made his stand in the Abyss. Takhisis called her most powerful dragons to her side and permitted them to join her. Hundreds of dragons fought at our queen’s side.”

The green paused, staring at nothing. “But so few lived through it. We are scattered now, for the most part keeping to ourselves.”

“Only the dragons fought?” Malys pressed. “And Takhisis and the other gods, of course.”

“Humans were there, too—the Knights of Takhisis. There were other armored men, elves, dwarves—all of the mortal races. Even a kender. But they were gnats, nothing next to Chaos. Only the dragons were strong enough to weaken him, wear him down and distract him so a drop of his blood could be gathered within the broken halves of the Graygem. Had it not been for the dragons, there would be no Krynn. Sealing the stone again was enough to force him to leave. But his godchildren had to go with him—and all the magic, too. They say this is the Age of Mortals now.”

“I think it is the Age of Dragons,” Malys said.

The green flicked his tail lazily like a cat and shook his head sadly. He reached a talon up to scratch his angular jaw. “No. The time of dragons is passing. There are not near so many of us now. We are creatures of magic. And with magic gone, how long will it take for us to fade from Krynn?”

It was a statement, really, not a question, and the green hadn’t expected an answer. But Malys gave him one.

“We do not have to fade at all.” She fixed her eyes on the green, and the corner of her massive scarlet lip curled upward in a slight smile. “A red challenged me recently, and though it pained me, I was forced to fight him. I was victorious, of course. As he died, I felt stronger. I became more powerful. I knew that by slaying him I had absorbed his magical essence. I am not going to fade.”

The green rose on his haunches and backed away from Malys. “Are you suggesting dragons purposely kill each other to survive?”

“You don’t want to fade from Krynn, do you?” she asked, turning the green’s words back on him. “Better some die, rather than all. Better you live.”

The green silently regarded Malys. Then after several silent moments he spoke. “The coppers, the brass, the bronzes. The draconians.”

“Those who are smaller and weaker, those who would not pose much of a challenge in a fight. Those who have a hint of magic about them. Kill them and gain their power.”

“They are my enemies anyway,” the green mused, his conscience tossed soundly out the door.

“Perhaps even smaller green dragons.”

“No!”

“Of course not,” Malys was quick to apologize. “Forgive me. I was merely thinking you might want to eliminate those beneath you, those who could present a threat and who might grow more powerful as they killed their enemies—and eventually turned on you.”

The green stared at her, thinking. He drummed a claw against the earth. “I would presume that smart dragons would use the magical essence they gained to establish domains, claim tracts of Krynn and shape the land to suit them.”

Malys glanced over her shoulder at her new lair, which was part of a small mountainous area she was landscaping. “The Dairly Plains are mine,” she hissed. “And soon I will take the land to the west of them.”

The green dragon nodded. Malys had provided him with an excellent plan. He couldn’t wait to share it with all of his other allies.

One year later, Khellendros became dragon overlord of a realm consisting of the Northern Wastes, Hinterlund, Gaardlund, and the Plains of Solamnia—those lands touched by the Turbidus Ocean as far south as Solamnia’s new border. The Blue likely could have claimed more territory, but that would have taken more time, and would require that many more hours be devoted to patrolling his realm.

He selected a lesser blue dragon, Gale, to keep an eye on the farthest edges of his territory. Gale, knowing it was better to ally himself with Khellendros than to be trampled by him, loyally served the Storm Over Krynn.

Khellendros preferred to spend his time trying to perfect blue spawn. He selected the best human candidates to become his nightmarish creations, and found the occasional draconian that was needed to power the transformations. He preferred to spend time thinking about Kitiara and how he would ultimately find a way to bring her back.

The inhabitants of New Coast were occupied with worries about their land, which was becoming wetter than was normal for fall. The rains had increased dramatically and the water was not being absorbed by the ground as fast as usual. Deep pools of water lay about inland villages, drowning crops and threatening homes. Rivers were spreading out and threatening to swallow farms. The temperature was climbing and swarms of insects were becoming as thick as clouds.

The unseasonable fall warmth was making the coastline steamy, hotter than it was in the summer. And the coastline itself was shifting. The water in the fingerlike bay of New Sea that reached between New Coast and Blödehelm was rising and becoming choked by lilies. People who lived along the shore were being forced farther inland.

A concerned silver dragon had taken to the skies in search of an answer. On this day he dipped low over the land, inspecting a fetid bog. It hadn’t been there a few weeks ago when he had visited. He made another pass over it and landed nearby. A hundred yards away was the edge of a copse of trees, and nestled between the largest willows was a reedy marsh that stretched toward the horizon. The trees had been there a long time, but the thick vines and moss that hung from their branches were new. Their roots were submerged in the brackish water.

The dragon didn’t remember the marsh either, though he had to admit he was not thoroughly conversant with this stretch of New Coast. A haze of mosquitoes hovered above the stagnant surface and wet roots. A fat, contented frog had partly submerged itself in a patch of mud and now rotated its eyes in the dragon’s direction.

“It is wet here,” the dragon began. “Too wet for this season.” The words sounded more like grunts and croaks. Silvers had a knack for being able to communicate with most species, and the young dragon enjoyed animal banter, often finding the conversations enlightening. Unlike people, and some other dragons he knew, animals didn’t lie.

“Never too wet,” the frog belched in tones the dragon understood. “Wet. Warm. Many insects to eat. Wonderful.”

“It has not been like this long.”

“Less than a moon,” the frog replied.

“Less than a month,” the dragon whispered.

“Forever,” the frog added. “It will be wet forever.”

The silver cocked his head closer. “What do you know about the water?”

“The master likes the water, too. And the heat. Wonderful heat.”

“The master?”