Jean Rabe - Dragons of a New Age

And they didn’t know that his actions centered on squelching news of his presence. Though Brynseldimer was not the brightest of Krynn’s massive dragons, he knew that if he didn’t want his large, scaly brethren to hunt him, he would have to keep them from finding him. He would have to keep his presence a secret.

Almost twenty years after Malys shared her secret plan with the green male, another larger green dragon digested the powerful information (as well as the unfortunate green male) and set about claiming her own domain. Her name was Beryllinthranox and by the time she had slain more than two dozen draconians with her devastating poisonous breath, she was also known as The Green Peril.

The windswept plain of Kharolis, the land surrounded by Ice Mountain Bay and the Sirrion Sea, was hers. She directed her efforts to ferreting out draconians in hiding and hatchling blue and copper dragons who relished the dry land of Kharolis’s sloughs. She spent her captured energy transforming the land, creating an environment for trees and streams, where before only sporadic patches of scrub weeds grew.

She eventually edged her way north, to the grasslands south of the Qualinesti forest, where she added three young brass dragons to her list of victories and feasted on a patrol of elves.

Beryl grew larger, more powerful, more belligerent, and within the span of three years, she claimed the home of the Qualinesti elves and became dragon overlord of Qualinesti and its surroundings.

Malys’s realm included Kendermore, Balifor, Khur, and the Dairly Plains. The latter was no longer flat. She had expended her energies on crafting a rugged mountain range that stretched from the far south to the north and curved toward the Kender homeland. The rich forests were thinned, both from her extensive hunting and from the toll her sculpting of the land took on the earth.

Her lair, the Peak of Malys, was now just south of a place called Flotsam. It was a massive, high plateau ringed on all sides by spiky rocks. She met with other dragon overlords there, and they shared news of conquests. Malys was always interested in learning about the humans the other dragons encountered. She wanted to know all about them, their drives and passions, their weaknesses and faults.

“It is the Age of Dragons, not the Age of Mortals,” the great Red hissed to Khellendros. The Blue was visiting her, answering a summons out of curiosity, not respect. “Powerful magic is beyond them.”

“But not beyond us,” Khellendros interjected. “We are magical creatures, and magic will not fade from us. We grow stronger.”

The Blue looked intently at her, as if he were studying her. For an instant Malys wondered if Khellendros suspected that she had initiated the fights between the dragons. Did he know dragons didn’t need to kill each other or the draconians to hold onto their magical essence and ensure their place in Krynn? She thought him clever, but it was hard to believe he was smart enough to figure her out. Impossible, really.

“Now is the time to strike,” she softly growled. “While men are at their weakest. They can’t stand up to us. They can’t defeat us as they defeated other dragons in decades past. We must subjugate them.”

Khellendros continued to stare at her for several long moments. Finally he nodded his great head. “Now is the time to strike,” he agreed.

“What are you thinking about?” The voice was soft and feminine, coming from behind Palin as he stood at the window and gazed out over Wayreth Forest.

“I was wondering what you were doing this fine afternoon, Usha.”

“You’re a terrible liar, husband.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, as he slowly turned to face her.

The three decades that had passed since the Chaos War had been especially kind to Usha Majere. Her long hair was white and shiny, the same color as the day he met her. Her figure was shapely and turned the heads of men half her age. And the few lines on her face were at the edges of her golden eyes and were noticeable mainly when she smiled.

But Usha had not smiled often as of late. She knew Palin was troubled. He was getting less and less sleep these days. The dreams had returned, and he often awoke sweating and unwilling to talk about them.

Age and worry had painted silver streaks in Palin Majere’s auburn, shoulder-length hair. The years had put a few creases in his brow and thin lines on his handsome face, and they’d slowed his gait a little. The years hadn’t stooped his shoulders or dulled his wits, however, nor had they lessened his determination.

Palin was in his mid-fifties now. He still wore long ivory robes, as he had since he was chosen to be the head of the Order of the White Robes. And he still often thought about his Uncle Raistlin, the most formidable Wizard of the Black Robes ever to walk upon Krynn.

With magic apparently gone, Palin was feeling frustrated and useless. He had served as the head of the Conclave of Wizards for the past four years, but nothing had changed. Wizards could not cast even simple spells and could only use some magical items. The elves of Qualinesti were in dire need of some means to battle against the powerful dragon overlord Beryl and the wizards had come up with nothing.

“What are you really thinking about?” Usha persisted.

Palin reached up and twirled a finger in her soft hair, moving it around and around until it formed a curl. He released the strand and cupped her face. She smelled of lilacs this morning, and he inhaled her fragrance deeply.

“I was thinking about the dragons,” he said finally.

“You’re always thinking about the dragons.”

“It’s hard to think about much else these days. I have to do something about them before the situation gets any worse. But I just don’t know what I can do. Things we’ve tried, the other sorcerers and myself, have done nothing and have gone unnoticed.”

Usha stepped back, balled her fists, and placed them against her hips. “The dragons frighten me, too, Palin Rintalaisin Majere. But the entire fate of Krynn is not on your shoulders. You hardly sleep anymore. Up so late, studying, thinking. Up so early too. I’m concerned about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Not if you keep this up.”

“I’ve a lot to do. I’ve made a discovery that—”

“Whatever it is you’ve been working on can wait for one day,” Usha insisted. “Just one day. We promised to have dinner with our children. What about the grandchildren? We promised. Tomorrow you can...”

Palin made a face. “I want to see them. I really do,” he began. There was a hint of exasperation in his voice. “But it will have to be a very quick dinner. And a late one, I’m afraid. I’ve things to tend to here that can’t be put off.”

“Palin!” his wife chided.

“Palin,” a deeper voice called. “We’re ready.”

Usha drew her lips into a thin, tight line and stared into her husband’s eyes. “I just wish I didn’t have to share you with the dragons and this tower,” she softly huffed. “And I wish I didn’t have to share you with those... men.” She gestured behind her, to a silvery-robed man whose face was hidden by his hood.

Palin gently drew her into his arms. “I’m the one who called this meeting. They came because I asked them to.” His lips brushed her forehead and lingered there for a moment. “I have to go now.”

They met in the topmost room in the Tower of Wayreth. Palin sat at the head of a long ebonwood table. The afternoon sun gleamed warmly on its polished surface.

To his right sat the silvery-robed sorcerer, who looked about thirty, only a few years older than Palin’s son, Ulin. But Palin suspected the man was much older than himself. The sorcerer’s smooth, black-gloved hands edged out of his voluminous sleeves and his fingers traced the whorls in the table-top. He brushed the cowl away from his unblemished, ebony-skinned face.