Jean Rabe - Dragons of a New Age

“Young,” Palin chuckled. “Not anymore, father.”

“Goldmoon kept the banner,” Caramon added. He nodded toward the walnut box. “Is it in there?”

“Yes.” Dhamon quickly retrieved the haft. Its silk banner fluttered in the wind, which was even stronger now. He handed it to Caramon, who expertly joined it to the lance.

Tika drew a shawl about her and glanced out the window. The sky was darkening, and she saw a flicker of lightning in the clouds.

“It’s yours now,” Caramon said, hefting the weapon and passing it to Dhamon.

The weapon felt lighter than it should be, yet it was superbly balanced. “I don’t know what to say,” Dhamon began. He looked back and forth between Tika and Caramon. “To give me this. I don’t know if I—”

“Promise you’ll slay a dragon with it,” Caramon interrupted. “That’s what it was made for. And there’s certainly a few dragons on Krynn needing to be slain.”

A thick bolt of lightning shot from the clouds and touched down in the city. The ground shook, the vibrations felt even in the inn room, and thunder filled the air. Another bolt followed it, slicing through the corner of a balcony down the street, at the edge of Tika’s vision. Tile and stones rained down onto the sidewalk below. Tika quickly stepped away from the window and looked at Caramon.

“We’d better get going,” Palin said.

“Always in a hurry,” Tika said. “But I suppose Caramon and I were always in a hurry years ago.” She took the sorcerer’s face between her small hands and kissed his cheek. “The storm is a bad one. All this lightning. I wish you’d stay until it passes. Your ship can’t leave during a storm.”

Palin backed toward the door. “Mother, Father, I’ll see you again—soon. Next time it will be at home. I won’t ask you to do any more traveling...”

“Nonsense!” Caramon interrupted. “Checking out other inns is good for us. Gives us ideas for the Last Home. Besides, we—”

Lightning crackled sharply and thunder boomed, louder this time. Again the inn shook, and screams cut through the air—coming from somewhere outside on the street. Palin rushed to the window and looked out. He saw a building in the distance collapse as lightning repeatedly struck it. A wave of people were coming down the street, running away from something.

“The storm’s not natural!” Palin shouted over the thunder. “No rain! The lightning seems directed!”

Dhamon moved to the door. “Feril and the others...”

Palin drew back and nodded. “I know, let’s go.”

“Dragon!” they all heard someone scream.

“I’m going with you!” Caramon announced. “Let me get my sword.”

Tika grabbed her husband’s arm as Dhamon and Palin dashed out into the hallway. “Not this time, Caramon,” she admonished. “Stay here and protect me.”

The big man knew his wife didn’t need protecting, but he nodded and joined her at the window.

Palin found himself hurrying to keep up with Dhamon. He had to stop several times to duck or dodge flying debris. The wind was howling down the street, blowing shutters and signs off buildings, overturning benches and flowerpots. Lightning continued to flash, striking near enough to make the cobblestones shake beneath their feet. They could hear glass breaking, masonry striking the street.

Screams were coming from the docks—a cacophony of shouts, barked orders and shrill cries. As the two rounded a corner, they were nearly barreled over by a crowd of sailors and dock workers running toward them. They could barely see through the gaps in the mass of panicked people.

“Run!” a fisherman bellowed as he shouldered his way past Dhamon.

“Skie!” cried another, red-faced and clutching at his chest as he rushed by.

Palin and Dhamon pushed through the crowd and saw what was responsible for the panic—a large blue dragon that hovered directly above Flint’s Anvil.

“Feril!” Dhamon yelled. He gripped the lance tighter, shouldering it as he increased his pace, leaving Palin behind.

The sorcerer dropped Dhamon’s clothes bundle. He thrust his hands into the folds of his robe and grasped the first magical item he touched, a small brooch. He began mouthing the words to a powerful spell, one that would destroy the bauble and most certainly leave him practically helpless afterward. But it was a strong enchantment, one he hoped would force the dragon away.

Dhamon’s feet pounded against the docks. “Feril!”

On the deck of the Anvil, Rig stood by the railing, slicing at the blue’s flailing tail. Blister and Jasper were perched by the capstan. The dwarf’s fingers glowed with the makings of some clerical enchantment aimed at Groller, who lay twisted and bloody at his feet—the first to fall to the dragon.

Shaon had climbed the mainmast and, from her precarious perch, she was swinging her sword at one of the dragon’s rear legs. Her violet dress billowed about her long dark legs. Lightning arced from the sky, making her blade practically glow.

Feril was clutched in the dragon’s claw. The Kagonesti’s arm pumped up and down as she repeatedly stabbed at the dragon with a knife. The dragon’s flesh was dense, and the blade merely bounced off the sapphire scales and finally shattered, shards of metal falling to the planks below.

Shaon’s sword struck successfully, however, cleaving scales and skin and causing the dragon to roar in surprise. The blue beat his wings to carry himself higher, just beyond the female sea barbarian’s reach.

The Kagonesti closed her eyes and concentrated, thought about her homeland of Southern Ergoth—the ice that covered the land, the snow that fell every day and every night and pressed down on the earth, smothering it. The dragon’s claw was pressing in on her. She dropped the knife pommel and spread her fingers wide, touching the dragon’s paw and making him feel the terrible cold she envisioned.

Caught off guard by the frigid sensation, the dragon released Feril, and she plummeted toward the dock far below. In the same instant, the blue dragon opened his maw and delivered a bolt of lightning, a thin stroke that cut through the mainmast and sent the mast and Shaon flying toward the deck. But the dragon’s claw was quick. He stretched down and caught the sea barbarian in midair. The sword she’d injured him with clattered harmlessly to the deck.

Then the great beast raised his head to the growing clouds and released another bolt, this one echoed with a great boom by the sky. He flapped his wings to again move higher.

Rain began to fall, soft at first, pattering down on the ships, the planks, and the harbor. But within the span of a few heartbeats, the tempo quickened.

Feril managed to spin about and landed crouched on the dock, on her hands and feet as if she were a cat. She sprang toward the Anvil’s railing and vaulted onto the deck. She reached into her bag, her fingers searching for the clay.

Dhamon scrambled up the plank that led to the Anvil’s deck. He quickly glanced at Feril to make sure she was all right, then he shouldered the lance and peered through the sheet of rain at the dragon. The beast was too high up, beyond Dhamon’s reach. He squinted through the rain, trying to get a better look at the dragon. Something about it seemed familiar.

Palin’s thumb ran over the smooth stone in the center of the brooch as his words and his pulse quickened. He stood on the shore, his feet touching the edge of the dock. His voice rose as the incantation concluded, and the brooch shattered in his hand. A streak of pale green light rushed from his palm and through the sky as if it were an arrow. It unerringly struck the dragon in the center of his chest, and scales and blood fell like leaves from a shaken tree.