Jean Rabe: Dragons of a New Age

“But my magic is strong, too,” the blue dragon said. “Perhaps a cloning enchantment might work.” Again he started mumbling, old words from another spell learned from his portal-hopping. As his voice increased in intensity, the shimmering brightened. The glow expanded and formed a column of scintillating copper and blue lights. It sputtered and sparked, then a shard of bright blue light flew from the column and struck the kapak. The draconian screamed again.

Khellendros concentrated on the column, which had begun to take on a different shape. Through the gleam of lights the dragon could see muscular limbs, a thick chest and a dragonlike head taking shape. As the lights faded, wings sprouted from the creature’s back, and a long tail grew to the floor. The creature vaguely resembled the kapak, but was sleeker, with dark blue scales the color of the sea at sunset. Its eyes were golden, like the blue dragon’s, and a spiked ridge ran from the crest of its high forehead to the tip of its tail. Miniature lightning bolts crackled about the thing’s claws, and its breath sounded like soft rain.

“My tear,” Khellendros said in a hushed tone. “It altered the spell, created something different

“Master,” the blue creation croaked.

The dragon’s eyes grew wide and he cast his glance between the cowering kapak and the new creature. The kapak, huddled like a frightened child, glanced at the dragon, then lowered its gaze.

“Spawn of Khellendros,” the dragon pronounced. He decided to call the creature a khellspawn. He was tremendously pleased with himself. His ego soared.

Then it crashed with the realization that naming the creature after himself might give away his secret prematurely. “For now, I shall just call you... spawn.” He grimaced at the meager word and looked at his creation, which resembled him so in beauty and bearing. He was swept up in his own magnificence and the words rushed from his sizeable maw, “Perhaps I shall call you blue spawn.” He figured he deserved that much credit, at least.

“Master,” the spawn said again. The word was stronger this time. The creature balled its fists, rotated its reptilian head, and crouched to test its rippling leg muscles. Its wings flapped slightly, disturbing the faint layer of sand and dust in the cavern and rising a few inches above the stone floor.

I could not displace the mind of the kapak because Takhisis’s magic is too strong, Khellendros mused. But perhaps I could displace the mind of the spawn. Kitiara’s spirit would have an exquisite form then.

“Master?” a pained expression crossed the spawn’s scaly face. The creature’s eyes dulled, and its form grew transparent. Its body quavered and rippled, like waves of heat above hot desert sand. Then it disappeared, leaving behind a faint blue glow that folded in about itself and extinguished.

Khellendros’s angry roar rocked the cavern. “I shall not be defeated!” the great dragon spat. He rose on his haunches until his head grazed the stony roof.

The kapak clung to the shadows and crept away from Khellendros, edging toward the exit from the lair.

“I shall succeed!” the blue dragon bellowed as a massive paw shot forward and trapped the kapak. “I shall experiment with you again—and again.”

Many months later Khellendros was well-rested, sated, and pleased. A quartet of blue spawn stood deep in his lair, and he had spent the past few hours admiring them.

The kapak that helped fuel their creation lay on the cavern floor, exhausted and sore. Its thirst had been quenched, and it, too, had recently eaten. The blue dragon was making sure it stayed reasonably healthy so he could use it again.

Khellendros knew his blue spawn, his children, were more powerful than the kapak, possibly more powerful than even the auraks—the greatest of the Dark Queen’s draconians. It had taken the ancient spell coupled with the kapak’s blood and scales, his own tears, and four humans gathered from a nomadic barbarian tribe north of his lair. The bodies gave substance to the spawn, kept the forms from fading. The human minds were blended with the kapak’s to create a new creature, one that was thoroughly and magically loyal to Khellendros.

“One of you shall have the honor of housing Kitiara,” the blue dragon whispered. He padded from his lair, spread his wings, and headed toward Nightlund.

Behind him and forgotten, the kapak struggled to its clawed feet. For several long moments it studied the blue-scaled spawn. They returned its stare, but said nothing, did nothing. Khellendros had not given them any orders, had not told them they could speak. Miniature lightning bolts crackled about their sharp black claws, and their eyes seemed to glow like smoldering embers.

They are beautiful, the kapak thought. It was angry and astonished that a bit of its own mind, and some of its scales, kindled the magic that birthed them. Birth. The word hung in its dense head.

“Auraks should know,” it said, referring to its brother draconians that were made from the corrupted eggs of gold dragons. “They should know about this. And the sivaks.” The kapak knew that the auraks and the sivaks were the smartest and most cunning of the draconians. Perhaps they could use this magic to make draconians procreate, to make them no longer sterile. Perhaps they would reward the kapak for this information.

The scheming kapak stumbled from Khellendros’s lair, a self-appointed mission powering its uneven steps.

The miles melted beneath Khellendros’s wings. It was dark when he reached Nightlund, and the pale moon that hung in the clear sky overhead illuminated a scene that was the same—yet different—than what he had observed many months ago. The great blue dragon skimmed over the tops of the old trees and dropped toward the ground. He glided to a stop near a small hillock, and stared at the circle of stones that sat there. The fog was gone, the ancient stones visible to anyone.

Khellendros was puzzled, but he strode forward, his footfalls sounding like muffled thunder. His body too large to fit between the stones, he pushed off with his legs and landed in their center. Catlike, he wrapped his tail about his haunches.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, pictured the misty realm of The Gray, thought about Kitiara. Khellendros saw himself floating through the haze, moving closer to his once-partner, calling out to her, being reunited, telling her about his blue spawn and her new body. But when he opened his eyes he was still inside the ring.

“No!” The blue dragon’s scream cut across the Nightlund countryside. A deep sound raced up his throat and formed a bolt of lightning that shot out from his mouth and sped far into the sky.

Khellendros slammed his eyes shut, concentrating again. He repeated the spell over and over in his head, pictured himself moving beyond Krynn, to other dimensions. Again nothing happened.

In anger, he thrashed his tail about, striking one of the stones and toppling it. “The magic!” he hissed. “The magic does not come! The portal does not open!”

He breathed another bolt of lighting, striking a stone and sending it into a shower of pebbles that harmlessly bounced off his thick hide. Then he called clouds to form, heavy black ones that quickly filled the sky and yielded a terrible storm to match his raging temper. The wind picked up and was soon howling. Rain smacked into the earth, lightning flashed, and thunder rocked the landscape.

“Another portal,” he hissed over the storm’s wailing. “I shall fly to another portal.” His legs tensed, ready to push him into the sky.

“Another portal will not work.”

The voice sounded hollow, little more than a whisper, but it froze the great dragon in place. He cast his massive head about, looking for the speaker who would dare intrude on his portal. His keen eyes saw nothing but the rain, the storm-flattened grass, and the ancient stones.